Yesterday we went walking. We didn't intend to walk quite so far, but we were lost for a bit. Being lost in another city, another country, is quite enjoyable. We found back alleys with old stone buildings, the recycling center, the library, a pharmacy and the muscles in our legs. Ouch! There they are.
And after a break and some dinner (the most delicious sausages ever known on the entire planet and I do not exaggerate here) we went walking again. This time back to the beautiful cemetery, the park along the river, the fields within the park and the river along the racetrack. The wind had whipped up fiercely, and the clouds were moody and moving quickly. The feeling within the cemetery in the wind, under the stormy skies with a murder of crows noisily flocking above us was out of a movie. Emotional, wild, eerie - and perfect.
There were hardly any people about, and it felt as though time stood still for a couple of hours. No one noticed us bush-wacking our way through low scrub into a hidden alley. No one but the two of us saw the dark birds flocking in the ivy and on rooftops as the sun was setting, noisily announcing nighttime was imminent.
We were the only ones standing in front of the monument to the anti-H-Block martyrs reading the names and the number of days each one lasted once the hunger strike began. (You can read about the under strike here: The Fast to the Death of Ten Irish Republican Hungerstrikers. )
We were alone early this morning painting in an alley across the way, which was the subject of today's plein aire piece. A sudden gust of wind toppled over my water jar and ended this morning's paint before I was ready to stop, but it was lovely to be out in the elements and alone on the streets before the rest of the local world awoke.