rural Ireland

I stand above the ocean at Sky Road’s summit and look out over the islands, where folktales say mermaids sit and sing and comb their hair. A group of French tourists laugh amongst themselves. There’s the smell of saltwater and faraway…

St. Mary’s Church stands at the edge of a forest. A path goes from the wrought iron gate through the old graveyard of leaning headstones and into the pines. Sunlight glitters on the surface of the lake that lies behind the trees; a lake…

Drive down the L3210 and you roll through bog and woodlands and crossroads. Crucifixes and flowers mark the accident-sites where people were killed. And one-lane roads jut from its course into the country. Where they disappear around bends…

Once the market would have packed the square of this small town in East Galway. And its patrons would have spilled out of the pubs, spouting cigarette-smoke and shit-talk to the sky. Then this was a big town. Now the market is a man selling…