A winter-dark sea

Oh but it was winter in Donegal: hard rain and hail whirling and driving in from the Atlantic in clouds of darkest blue-grey.

Winter beach

On my first morning walk, a rain shower raced in before I got to the top of the hill behind the house and I went scurrying for safety in a stand of birch trees. Fortuitous since I was able to spot a tiny wren's nest, secure in its netting of birch limbs and honeysuckle tangles. The rain wasn't all bad then, as it gave me a chance to see such a tiny perfect thing and to wonder at the gorgeous caramel colour of the birch bark on the surrounding trees. The following morning was clear and a late waning moon lingered in the sky over the same grove of trees.

Wren's nest in birch and honeysuckle 

Birch bark

Look closely and you'll see a wintry moon

Dooey had been scoured by the wind and waves with the tideline higher than we've ever seen it. A tree trunk, complete with entwining ivy, lay incongruous on the beach at right angles to the tide. At Narin, the tide was out and the sand saturated so the whole beach was a mirror reflecting the winter sky, some intrepid New Year's Eve walkers and the occasional small dog. No excuses were needed to head back indoors, hunker down, light the stove and enjoy good food, wine and company. Thanks again, hosts!

Washed up tree trunk and embracing ivy.
Human foot for scale!

Mirror beach

Back home this weekend, I got out in the garden on a still bright morning and cut back the Molinia (beaten down finally by wind and rain and turning into a flattened soggy mess), the asters, the verbena (V. bonariensis) and various other messy remnants. The witch hazel in the back garden now gleams free of too much distraction, and in the front, as I'd hoped, Jelena has come into her own: deep red and peach gleaming at the base of the unfurling tendrils.

This morning was grey and dull and we went to dispose of our Christmas tree - a market in the same park found me buying some bright primulas which are now in a pot on one of the steps in the back garden. They catch the eye when there's so little else to see, apart from the birds that it is! Not only are wrens' nests visible on Donegal hillsides, but the wrens themselves are flitting from hedge to pot in the back garden, and the bird feeder is busy with finches, dunnocks, sparrows and coal-, great- and blue tits. By the stream and in the park every morning this week (at temperatures of 10 or 12C) thrushes and robins have been singing their hearts out. There's plenty more winter to come, for sure, but the birds know better than I do that the year has most certainly turned.

Hamamelis 'Jelena'

A pot of Primula brightens the back garden steps

I'll finish this week by noting with sadness the death of one of our gentlest poets, Dennis O'Driscoll. I once summoned up the courage to tell him in person how much I enjoyed his poetry, and one of his poems (Missing God) in particular; I'm glad now I took the opportunity. He's remembered here by his friend Seamus Heaney. RIP.

Have a good week all.