After years watching guests arrive with wheelie cases for two nights, I've learned what actually needs to come with you.

The cliffs were mostly fog. The village had three people in it by my count. I went anyway, and I'm glad I did.

The Blaskets were there and then they weren't – just grey water where the islands had been, and the wind making no apology for any of it.

I bought new hinges in Tralee. The repair took most of Saturday. The gate works now, sort of, if you lift it slightly.

The Faha path up Brandon in January: steep, quiet, cold enough to matter, and worth every slow step.

The novel has been on the arm of the chair since November. Bríd's letter exists only as an intention. The kitchen tile is still cracked.

Three hours from home and no cars to speak of. I've been four times now and I still can't fully explain what pulls me back.

The Valentia ferry takes about five minutes. You barely have time to zip your coat before you're there.