Travel Blog

Inishmore, Part 1

Looking at the house.

Wind. I knew my bicycle wheels were creaking on the road, I knew my breath was loud and heavy, I knew the cattle nearby were calling out, but all I could hear was the wind off the water. I continued to trek along, my little bicycle wheels turning with all their might up the gravelly path. I hadn't seen anyone for a while since I'd passed the only real bar on the island, where I certainly would stop in later for a pint and some music.

I saw a house up on my left. It was striking, for lack of a better word. It was in the middle of nothing but field and rock. It was two stories tall, a dark wood brown, casting an auspicious long shadow in front of it. It's windows faced north, out onto the water down below this hill. I had to stop my bike to take it in properly. I breathed and looked and everything was quiet but the wind. A million thoughts ran through my mind. Who lived here? Why? How did they get here? How did I get here? The sight was otherwordly, although it wasn't anything compared to what lay ahead. It was in that moment, in the shadow of the tall, stark house, that my mind began to quiet and I began to hear myself again, my clearest innermost voice, through the wind.

to be continued....

Looking away from the house onto what it sees.