Around me twelve mountains, marshland, silence and the rich scent of the wild earth. I stand in the middle of all this, awestruck, and let it all sink into me.
Afterwards, I walk back to the road. My friends are having a spontaneous, quick picnic. In the car. They have only left it to take a couple of pictures of the magnificent landscape.
I don't understand. Sitting in the car, surrounded by twelve mountains, and you hardly even bother to take a look? We might never, ever come back here.
We are in Connemara, in the west of Ireland, it is July. I am tired but wild with freedom and saturated with beauty.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
(W.B.Yeats)
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