It is pretty here. I find myself looking up from the kitchen, past the chair I have claimed as solely mine, out the window to the promenade and needing to grab a camera. I run down the stairs, and down the stairs, and down the stairs to the salty rail by the sea and start shooting.
Every night looking across to Donegal is different. The weather here changes constantly and so swiftly. This week I found myself drenched to the bone and freezing as I ran out along the beach. I got to the river mouth and turned back, the sun broke and I was instantly hot, drenched in yellow light.
Everything may well be ok.