Wabi-sabi and the beauty of imperfection

Every year at least once I remember the lines of this poem. Usually it's during Autumn in the dazzling russets of dying leaves. This year it was while walking in Mount Congreve during Magnolia time. Magnolias were flowering on dark branches and there are some ancient specimens there, but it was the dying petals strewn underfoot that brought the poem to mind again. 

I wish I understood the beauty 

in leaves falling.

To whom are we beautiful 

as we go? 

~David Ignatow

If there is such a thing as a Wabi-sabi poem, maybe this is it. Wabi-sabi is a Japanese way of seeing which honours the beauty of transience, imperfection and the incomplete. Think about your favourite old chair, a cracked cup you have stuck back together, an old silk scarf? I saw it in my elderly Grandmother, the most beautiful wrinkly woman, oozing love and elegance. I find it now in ragged hedgerows and vilified dandelions, and here in trampled petals. 

How freeing it can be to strive for imperfection! Being 60 now I hope it includes ageing gracefully, fading softly, avoiding at all costs the lethal stuff on offer from the botox pushers and their like? Do you have a place in your heart for Wabi-sabi? 

Here are some other reflections on this poem

Something precious to belong to; home.

Today it is the stillest, sunniest spring morning. 

To the east the hill of gorse is in full flower and the exotic aroma of sweet coconut brushes against my jacket. Birdsong fills the fields as nest making and nest guarding goes on. In the distant sky the Coastguard helicopter is rumbling it's way out over the Copper Coast. 

The golden light smothers everything in streams.  Later the wind will probably pick up from the southern Atlantic, a front might approach from the Comeragh Mountains to the west or from the plains to the north.

For now Waterford on a still spring day, in the golden light of this spring flowering, is something precious to belong to. 

And it's home.

Check out a new gallery called Up close in the Hedgrows here

Heavenly anenomes

Can I just go totally over the top here for 5 minutes? Can I share with you the exuberant joy of lying in these woodland anenomes at Zwartbles farm in Kilkenny on a spring afternoon in dappled shade? Can you soak up the colour and the light and the magic of it with me?

If contemplative photography is about anything it is getting close to the essence of the life force. One minute we are having a cup of tea and the next we are stretched over these tiny blooms of blue, opening and turning towards the sun on bed of green. Quivering petals expressing their full potential. Layers of light and shadow, turning to blurry colour through the photographic process. 

Just myself, Eadaoin and that dog with his nose in an earthy hole. 

Bliss all round!




For more spring colour check out the Purple Hyacinth Gallery here

Welcome little Zwartbles lamb!

We met on Twitter. Many people find it hard to understand how Twitter even functions, but in our beginning, a short few years ago, a small group of bloggers in Ireland discovered each other there. All with individual interests and reasons for blogging, eventually, here in the South East we bonded offline, over cups of coffee, camera phones and Wordpress v Blogger. 

Today myself, Eadaoin (City of Blackbirds) and Susan (Vibrant Ireland and Travel) are at Suzanna's farm in Kilkenny where she breeds Zwartbles sheep and makes dark chocolatey blankets from their wool. Four nerdyish females in the photography heaven of Irish Spring sunshine!

Could it get any better? Well it did.

Straight after lunch Suzanna led us into the orchard where there was a ewe in labour. Here we witnessed the birth of the last lamb of the season. It was the first time I had seen this up close, an everyday event full of wonder. In the shadowy light under the trees, with the rhythmic circling of the ewe, the wet lamb stands up in seconds having being licked and nudged by her mother. 

Later we brought some new babes for a walk through the daffodils planted by Suzanna's Grandfather, we lay in the wood anenomes to photograph the dying light and fed lambs from bottles in the farmhouse kitchen. 

I'm left with the warmest glow of gratitude. Passionate women, cuddly lambs and sunny daffodils, a perfect kind of day..........

See also my first meeting with Suzanna in December 2012   

You can find Suzanna's website here

Mad as a March Hare

"The March Hare will be much the most interesting,

and perhaps as this is May it won't be raving mad

– at least not so mad as it was in March."  

thus spoke Alice, in Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

Last year he was a fluffy bundle. Now he has grown into young Master Hare.

In between nibbling and snoozing, he takes the odd stretch. Is he dreaming of Spring? Can we just get on with it now please, before I fall asleep again!!!

(The tag Mad as a March Hare refers to Spring mating behaviour when females sometimes engage in boxing matches with undesirable males.) 

Gems of amethyst and gold

Always in the same spot under this large tree. Who planted them or when?

In the morning light, their petals glow, sparkling gems of amethyst and gold. So climb over two strands of barbed wire. Get even closer. 

Any photographer would yearn for gritty urban street drama? 
But down in this dewy grass, in the sweet scent of crocuses flowering, that longing is a bit less......

There are more Irish Wildflowers here in the archive gallery


Also if it's up your alley, check out the new Contemplative Photography tips here

Spring in Ireland #Pilgrimage ~ April

Spring comes early here. Delicate and lemony leaves fill the hedgerows. By the time we return, foxgloves will be flowering again on the lane. Truth be told, it's hard to leave.

The privilege I feel turning into my sixth decade is overwhelming. Early losses meant that I may have lived a little tentatively, now my grip on life has become ferocious. Along the way I may have felt unsure, but now my feet step strongly along the path. Like a suffragette for all the women in my life who have missed the chance to grow old, I am beginning to deeply appreciate my own heart beating like a young thing!  

Bluer skies will fill my eyes with light. My soul mate and I will sit under the stars in Greece (as we did in our twenties) and marvel at the chance. We will both savour every new turn in the road.

I will keep you posted from the Peleponnese as long as I can catch a wave or two of internet somewhere along the way. Thank you all so much for your thoughtful comments, notes and support. As always they are much appreciated and so encouraging. 


Meanwhile there are more photographs of Spring in Ireland here 

Going green

Ireland is going green. 

First of all it's the National Holiday, Saint Patrick's Day. But even more importantly it is also Spring. 

At last, at last, at last. 

After the grey, stormy winter, here in the fields, every small twitch of change registers. Buds, shoots, blossoms, flowers. Nest building, mad march hare dashing, and the buzzing of flies. For now I just love flies!!! 

Wake up, shake a leg. I walked up the lane without a coat, without a hat! I sat on the beach and felt sun on my face! I'm sitting here at an open window listening to a blackbird chirping!

But more than anything else, it is this particular shade of green. It starts out so light and fizzy. And it's not just the EU grasses and the fertilised meadows. It's the fresh new leaves and the wild grass on the ditches. The buds of brambles, the tips of gorse. This newest spring green is the most Irish thing I can think of just now! 

I have lots of photos of smiling faces and funny hats but for Lá Fhéile Phádraig or Paddy's Day (it's never ever Patty's Day by the way) I offer you the green of an Irish spring and a Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

And for actual funny hats and craic see here

Pastel diary

Pink, blue, lavender and softest grey, the pastel diary of early spring days. The promise of a new palette. Until then soak in the light, the heart, the hope. Warmth streaming through the window after our wintery lunch. 

Pull back the curtains, throw open the door and listen to the whisper of the world turning.

The colour purple

After the devastation of the storm, the tree may be gone but the crocuses are still blooming unharmed beneath it......