The last Journey
The rain had been falling for three days without reprieve, not the soft Irish mist that Maeve had grown accustomed to in her forty-seven years, but a relentless hammering that turne...
The abandoned Booth
The phone box stood where it had always stood, on the brow of the hill where the land fell away in folds of yellow gorse and grey stone towards the Atlantic. Its green paint had...
The light from distant days
The woman sits in front of the computer, taking a moment to contemplate the grey ocean visible from the windows. The Irish waves, livid and boiling with rage, bring back...
The "Annie May"
Michael Connolly had returned to this stretch of coastline for thirty years, watching the gradual surrender of the Annie May to time and tide. The fishing boat's weathered hull, now...
Hoist the colours high
Red sails the symbol of strength,
Nature's elements defied at length.
Her seafaring soul lights up
For the one she loves to sail,
Forever dancing with the waves
To the windswept sea's wild tale.
She is a sturdy vessel, a true sailor's friend.
Braving the waves, she...
Sailing in Connemara