The dance of the Oystercatchers

All my life I have seen Oystercatchers dabbling around in the shallows along Benvoy or one of the other beaches of my childhood. They have a simple routine.

A flock flies in, lands, and then, all together now, dainty little steps into the water and then, suddenly, about face and quick steps out again, and again. After a while a quick foxtrot up or down the beach followed by a swooping fast flight and they are gone again.

Through the lens, I could see that they were having fun, enjoying the larking about, and perfectly present in their world. I was just an observer, a flightless blob on the rock, unable to keep up, I watched them disappear around the headland and on to their next adventure.

I am a slow one these days in comparison. When I try to speed up I remind myself that I am observing details of life very carefully and I must stand still to really see what is around me. This seems to be just as true of work as of play!

And when I take it slowly the mystery and the magic continues......."in a dark time, the eye begins to see" -Theodore Roethke

Ireland is a greyish greenish mauve in winter

It's another greyish greenish mauvey morning. Ireland in the winter is challenging for a light loving snapper. Everything today is the texture and colour of tweed. From dawn to dusk it has been drizzling with a soft, wet rain. (Persisting all day, it made my photos a bit more tweedy than intended! )

As it is still quite cold the Tits, Robins and assorted Finches are really enjoying the feeders and while it is impossible to do much outside I observe their antics from the window.

As usual the Robin stole the show and I have started to notice just how territorial he can be, even pipping at me when I strayed too close to re-stock. A small bird in the scheme of things I get a great kick out of his upstart poses and cleverness.

The Tits are like exotic little budgies and always seem to move in groups creating flashes of colour in the willows. They will nest soon in the nearby gorse. The Chaffinches usually come in pairs and while he strikes a proud pose on the birdbath she pecks around on the ground a softer toned but equal partner in the setting up of their new home.

Like me the birds are waking up and getting busy for the new season, I can hear the enthusiasm in their happy tweets........

Mythical winter swan on the lake

As an anti-dote to the economic wars endlessly rehearsed on the airwaves I took to the water last night and just observed the peaceful world of this swan. Whenever I see a swan it brings me back to the story of the Children of Lir which we all learned in school as small children.

Lir and his wife Aobh had four children called, Aodh, Fionghuala, Fiachra and Conn. When Lir's wife died in childbirth he remarried but his new wife Aoife was jealous of the children and their loving relationship with their father. One day in a jealous rage she put the children under a spell and they were turned into four white swans. They remained in that form for 400 years, living lives of horrendous hardship and loneliness wandering the world. I can almost feel the cold that they experienced living on icy waters through endless winters whenever I think of them.

In the end the spell was finally broken and they were returned to human form as withered old people. They were eventually baptised, died peacefully and were buried together. 

This legend is very much part of our Irish national psyche as is being able to absorb all sorts of stories and myths in our youth. So many beautiful Irish works of art have drawn on the powerful image of the four children as swans, or the amazing transformation from child to bird or from swan to human again. 

I still relish tales of the bitter sweet sort, of trapped beauty, of ice cold worlds, and above all of human survival and love........