Week 5.1 Every day it's like a new painting

Today, I woke to an apartment filled with sunshine.  It's sort of like waking up to Christmas morning when you least expect it.  We're taking two days to go to Leenane tomorrow so I knew I needed to get some major work done on the paper that's been not going so well.  I decided to go work in the little cafe next door where the scones are tasty, the decaf lattes perfect, and the ladies kind and lovely.  As I worked, clouds skulked in over the hills but somehow it was still lovely.  As I walked over to the cafe, I decided the only thing to do on the writing project was to keep hammering away at it and something would invariably come through: bad writing can always be revised, blank pages cannot be.  Amazingly-- and I credit this to the tastiness of the scone-- the words started to come and the larger plan of the paper made itself evident and it practically wrote itself.  I love the feeling when the words start to fall into place: as a writer I live for that.  I had iTunes playing and just as I was realizing how nicely things were falling into place, I looked out the window and saw sheep on the hills and birds flying over the bay, and Solas started singing Dougie MacLean's song "This Love Will Carry" on my headphones (here is Dougie singing his song-- I love Dougie.).  A really lovely moment.  
Today's photos are of the area around the Quay.  The first is the view of the hills I saw from the cafe and the others are of the walk back to the Quay from town.  As I was taking these pictures, I wondered how many photos of the same view I could take but then I realized every day, every hour, every minute, it's like a different painting.  I was reminded of what Colm Toibin said of Jack B Yeats' lifework: "He dedicated his life to the most difficult and intractable issue-- the instability of Irish light." The last three photos were taken within minutes of each other.  I see precisely what he means. 

I will leave today's entry with Dougie's words 

These days are golden, they must not waste away
For our time is like that flower, and soon it will decay
And though by storms we're weakened, uncertainty is sure
And like the coming of the dawn, it's ours forevermore.

This love will carry
This love will carry me
I know this love will carry me