Impressions of Connemara
The bog is waterlogged and broken by many large and small lakes which take their mood from a sky that can be overcast showing only some soft patches of Cerulean Blue. There are many wounds in the bog from which the black turf has been ripped over centuries to provide fuel for rough hearths. Turf is stacked in piles by the roadside that can appear as the black roofs of sunken cottages. The landscape is lonely but not forsaken; the rocks appear light in colour and can be the home for various lichens.
The Bens are clad in a myriad of soft but strong greens. Appearing at times as soft velvet clothing the strong rock which erupts in greys and pinks to meet the sky. After heavy rains there are threadlike waterfalls tumbling into black lakes. The lakes themselves can be vast. On a quiet day they are calm with silver ripples. Roads meander clinging to a lakeside here and there. Earth and rock jab the water with bony fingers in counterpoint to the soft lush shoulders of the mountains.
At the oceans edge the rocks are black with rust coloured seaweed clinging. Low on
a beach where the sea crashes in, spray hangs in the sky for an instant high above
the glistening rock before descending with a rush as the weight of the Atlantic thunders
home. Around the inlets the sea can be more of a friend sheltering small yachts and
the black-
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