Walks

I've lived at the foot of Beenoskee for thirty years and only now am I writing it down – which tells you something, though I'm not sure what.

Five lanes I've walked so often I could do them in the dark – and once or twice, in November, I more or less did.

Bríd got a blister outside Lispole and didn't mention it for three miles – I only found out at the top of the hill when she sat down without being asked.

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.

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

Four things I noticed on the loop above Anascaul Lake, in November, when the light was already thinking about going.