After docking in Cork harbour, he headed north across the hills and moors without taking his eyes off
the Atlantic Ocean. His only companion, the weeping winds from the open sea, was the coastline
and the sandy shores. He went over ditches and fences to find grace in the posture of the Irish horse.
His hands were seized by the sea spray, the mists fell quickly, we will hear no more the horn under
the barking of the Border Collie. To the songs of the minstrels, he roamed the peninsulas of Dingle,
Ivreagh, Beara, Sheep's Head and Mizen, adventure echoing. Ireland has sung its rite, its Celtic heart
beating, carrying its voice over the mountains, to pierce us forever.
Ireland. October 2022.