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On Darkness as Origin
There are nights in West Cork when the land feels stripped back to its rawest truth. Down on the Sheep’s Head Peninsula, that long and narrow reach of earth running out into the Atlantic on the south side of Bantry Bay, winter arrives without softenings or shelter. No hedgerows here. No gentle boundaries. Just long golden mountain grasses blown flat by Atlantic wind, heather and gorse crouched low as if bracing itself, and the ground beneath holding its shape in stone and sil


Water at the Threshold: Autumn Rituals of Bathing and Remembrance
The path climbs steeply. On either side, belladonna plants rise like green sentinels, their glossy leaves and purple-throated flowers...
