Sunday morning coming
down. It is…it was clear all the way to
the mountains but I just looked up and greys have taken over the coast and the
mountains. It’s a blue grey though, as
if the sky and the fog have mixed for a morning cocktail the sun will have to
down…Ireland! Yesterday we spent on the
Dingle Peninsula, one of the most remote, and primal located across a most
narrow mountain pass then down to the sea where the town Dingle is tucked into
a very wide harbor. Dingle is like the
Gatlinburg of the peninsula, smaller but touristy. The gem is the costal road that begins there
and rings the remoter parts of the area.
Ragged black costal cliffs, high ridges and mountains checkered off with
stonewalls each hosting fat shaggy sheep.
What makes this area so primal is the remains of so many stone dwellings
of ancient peoples pre-dating the Vikings, Normans and later the English. Small stoned circles inside larger stone
circles, small enclaves of shelter and community dot the landscape, most of
which lie along the coast. I have seen
few greater testaments to the resiliency of humans than we saw yesterday. They know nothing about these people, no
written record exists, only stacked stoned script laid out on the
landscape. What moves me even this morning
in the early dawn of my pampered luxury is that among many of these structures
would be found a stone with a crude Cross carved into it. We spent yesterday moving from one testament
to another, all laid out along the ragged shoreline named the Dingle
Peninsula. Sunday morning coming
down.
No comments:
Post a Comment