Thursday Morning…

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A good morning smoke to start the day and blow the cobwebs away.

6am in the morning. Thursday. Another day of wasted life? Possibly. Whatever. I’m tired. Tired of life. I grab the open pack of tobacco on the dinner table. Take a paper and start to roll. Careful now, man! Don’t rip it all apart! I lost the feeling in my fingers over the years. Well, almost. It’s a struggle.

The fresh smell of tobacco… it’s what keeps me going….I light the cigarette, take a deep breath, inhale the familiar smoke. The taste too well known to excite.

My body’s filling with life. I’m awake. For what? Don’t know. Turn on the radio. Recession. Corruption. Terrorism, plane crash, a drunk driver pacing down the M1 on the wrong side; frontal crash, three people dead. … isn’t it always the same? Heard it all before. Seen it all before. No emotions anymore. Only a numb feeling.

Standing here, outside, on this wooden veranda, rotting away under my feet. Or is it me, rotting away? Don’t know. Does it matter? It’s the circle of life. We all have to go at some point. Everything has to go at some point. A constant change, that is what it is. I’m just part of all this. A small, tiny part. Insignificant.

I blow out the last bit of smoke left on my cigarette……

Ferry to Manhatten

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New York’s imposing skyline in sight. The chilly December wind is slowly creeping in through the open door, cuts into the faces of the crowd. People gathering around this one open front door of the ferry. It’s a confined space. Not much room to breathe. Some shoving, a little bit of pushing. Nothing serious though. Everyone wants to get the best possible view, soaking in the moments, when approaching Manhatten. This skyline, the famous buildings rising sky high, seen so often before, then in the comfort of the own sofa – now here, it’s real, it’s palpable. Is it? Photos, selfie, video… do we really catch the moment?

When the night falls

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There in the distance, a mix of foggy, dark red and grey clouds drifting over the hills of Skellig Bay. A sign of what is inevitably soon to arrive: The night. The moment he’s coming down the stairs. Touching the soft, smooth sand of the beach. It’s this known feeling. A feeling of home. The red coat shiny and beautiful, glittering in the setting sun. A typical Irish Setter. Excited, exuberant, bathing in the cool sea, playing with the waves. They have been here so many times before. He and his man. Every single night, for the last 8 years. Still, the magic of this place doesn’t cease to overwhelm. It’s the light. It’s the sound. It’s the Ocean.