Today was what is traditionally described in Ireland as ‘a soft day.’ That’s a nice term for a misty, drizzly, warmish kind of a day when you think you’ll never see a blue sky again.
When I peeped out the front door in semi-despair this morning, the haunting look of our Monkey Puzzle tree carried me away from thoughts of blue and the blues:
Softness was playing in the prickly branches and the greens were greener than green.
All thoughts of staying in and waiting for the ‘day to rise’ left me and Stan and I headed to a deserted Garrarus Beach where the tide was fully out. It certainly wasn’t the stuff of picture postcards looking out to sea but the shoreline carried all sorts of soft promises:
This was a day to focus on the gifts that the high tide had left:
Strong colours and soft textures entwined like lovers. Nature playing with us; us playing with nature:
And all the while, the damp daisies on the cliff face gleamed:
As we were leaving the beach an elderly man who was well-wrapped up in fisherman’s gear gave us a wave and shouted over:
‘Soft day, thank God.’