It is a dark miserable day here today. The rain blasting on my window with fierce power, the wind wildly knocking about in the chimney like a trapped feral. Luckily, I am sitting inside wrapped in my green lambswool throw and the fire peacefully flickers away. I love today’s misery whilst I am cozily tucked at home. This is the day to stay at home.
Lately, however, I have been living with the urge to flee, to go exploring. I am getting tired of winter hibernation and my mind is getting carried away with making holiday plans for the year. It is too early, though. Not yet… While the Irish winter (as mild as it is this year) has not released its grasp yet, I resort to trips down memory lane. As well as down to the computer hard drive, where the pictures are stored. It is there that I decided to take you as well on this wet and miserable Friday morning.
This was a trip a few years ago to the very South East of Ireland, the Dingle Peninsula. We stayed in the little town of Dingle for a couple of nights and travelled the peninsula from there. I have very fond memories of it. Of being constantly in awe with the Irish landscape, with the vast greenness, the rawness of beauty. This was more than four years ago now, but I clearly remember the magic of the mist lifting up in the early morning while we left the town early, the harmony of waves rhythmically crashing against the rock, as they probably have done for centuries, the zen sheep wandering the roads. I remember taking the last walk through the town of Dingle just before we left and my husband and I imagining what it would feel like to live there. But most of all I distinctly remember the sense of peace during these few days.
I hope you enjoy the little glimpse at our trip of few years ago.
P.S. For more pictures from Ireland, take a look at my post about our trip to Connemara.