where the writers are
Bog Walk and thoughts

I just got back from my walk in the bog and want to write it down, before I forget.  I am fortunate to live about a five minute drive from the bog.  Today the bog landscape was the colour of a rusty tricycle or a womans auburn hair glinting in the sunshine.  The sky was blue with only a distant rain shower falling beyond,  over the Burren.  I commented to myself that one of the Aran Islands looked like a  down turned currach.  Lenny the beagle displayed great loyalty for the first time ever and that is something considering he is four and a half years old now! Every now and then he would stop from his sniffing and rooting, turn back to focus on me, pause again and then run off.  He did that in a regular pattern and when  he did I shouted ''good dog'', ''what a guy''!  That seemed to please him no end, his tail waving about like a mast.  He loves it out there, seems to be his natural habitat and his coat blends in perfectly with the vegetation.

Out in the bog there is barely a sound to be heard just the swish, swish of the wind filtering through the Autumn  grasses and the gorse bushes.  Sometimes, like today,  you will hear but not see, a jet  flying overhead, off to Boston or Los Angeles and I think how lucky I am to be here with not a soul around just the dog and my thoughts for company.  I could have walked forever today but I had to get back.  As I made my way to my car I wished that  I could be a painter or a movie maker and come and capture this  untouched, raw  beauty, but then, horror struck as out of the corner of my eye I saw that there are people who don't share my view.  There, like a giant homage to pollution, was a pile of trash, plastic bags, diapers, car tyres all stacked  up.  A mound at least 10 feet tall.  So much for beauty.........I thought as I called out to the dog to head home.