A few years ago I saw footage of one of the Apollo moon missions flying away from Earth and the sight of seeing a piece of man-made technology set against our shrinking planet had a slightly discombobulating affect on me. It signified something huge, that my brain couldn’t quite comprehend. Although I can intellectually understand that we have travelled in space, I only really get the proper immensity of it when I see things like that.
This photo of the World Trade Centre Twin Towers, taken a few years before their destruction, had a similar affect when I came across it yesterday. There is something genuinely awe-inspiring about a scene like that, and at the same time really surreal.
A picture paints a thousand words isn’t really accurate. Sometimes no amount of words can get remotely close to describing a picture.
The story of this remarkable shot can be found here.
Today was an exceptionally nice day in Ireland, so I strolled around Dublin City centre soaking it in. On my travels I picked up a random assortment of swag: a bag of white tea from the impossibly nice man who sells tea in George’s Street Arcade, a second-hand copy of Alan Watts’ “The Supreme Identity” from the Secret Book and Record Store on Wicklow Street and a little origami crane from some nice people who were collecting donations for Japan.
All in all, a successful trip.
On a day when Ireland was, for a moment, very loud, and very angry and the future seemed more unpredictable and volatile than ever before, there came, after nightfall, a moment of brief reprieve. A palpable stillness fell over the land and from the sky came a generous flurry of snow right on cue. I stood out on my balcony for a moment and was overwhelmed by the silence and beauty as the night sky was filled with swirling flakes of white.
Then the silence was broken. But this time it was a different kind of loud energy. Revelers emerged from pubs, and children scrambled from houses, and all descended on the square outside my apartment to throw snowballs, to skate, to slide, to make snowmen and to fall on the ground and roll around with reckless abandon. Four men, no doubt fueled by a steady nights intake of stout, stood on the corner and sang Irish ballads, prompting one child to do an impromptu jig around them, in defiance of the deadly slick of ice across the street. It was a surreal and wonderful scene. Some European brethren built a mighty snowman, whilst local kids tried to engage all and everyone in an exchange of snowy artillery, all set to the sound of a drunken, but sincere rendition of “The Fields of Athenry”.
I glanced over at Twitter, and someone had remarked that the IMF delegation was seen leaving Dublin Airport, having finalized their deal with our Government. As their private jet arched up into the sky through the snow, I wondered if when they looked out the windows they saw anything like we mere mortals do when we see a blanket of white across the land. Or do they just see numbers and figures and calculations to be adjusted? Regardless, whatever they and our political masters do to us, they can’t take the snow.
It is a testament to the mystery that is the sum totality of the Universe than in order to have politicians, and debt, and greed, and fear, and anger you must also have silence, and snow, and snowball fights, and laughter, and song, and children dancing at 1 in the morning. Don’t ever forget it.
I don’t really see the hoo-haa about today at 10:10am being 10:10 10/10/10, I guess it’s mildly interesting. However, on Twitter @redmum set up an interesting project. She asked people to take a pic at that particular time, then post it with the hash-tag #10101010pic. I love ideas like this.
I grabbed my phone (my proper camera is missing, presumed lost ) and strolled out the door. I was walking down towards the beach to get your typical landscape horizon shot, when I saw something much more interesting. So here’s mine:
You can follow the others here.
While I was down the beach I witnessed something I hadn’t noticed before. The tide is way out (Dundalk bay is one of those spots where the tide retreats very far out and comes back in twice a day), but due to the blustery conditions I could hear this awesome roar of waves crashing way out at the horizon. Amazing sound. Kind of spooky.
Anyway, in the absence of a proper post, that’s your lot. (I swear, I am writing…i am!)