Irish Air – Day One

The air smells of wild mustard, burning peat and something sweeter, maybe honey, maybe memory. Its touch on my skin is soft, as soft as the damp grass and the round vowels.

The sky is quite changeable. Like that old Baltimore expression, if you don’t like the weather, wait fifteen minutes.

On the M1 somewhere between Dundalk and Newry

 

 

 

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