What no tourist bumf will tell you is that this inlet is suffused with an atmosphere of ineffable sadness. Partly a trick of the light and climatic factors, partly also the lingering residue of an historical tragedy which still resonates through rock and water down seven generations of fretful commemorative attempts and dissonant historical hermeneutics. Now think of grey shading towards gunmetal across an achromatic spectrum; think also of turbid cumulus clouds pouring down five centimeters of rainfall above the national average and you have some idea of the light reflected within the walls of this inlet. This is the type of light which lends itself to vitamin D deficiency, baseline serotonin levels, spluttering neurotransmitters and mild but by no means notional depression. It is the type of light wherein ghosts go their rounds at all hours of the day.
Mike McCormacksome things are so awful, you can't look them square in the face and some things make no sense no matter what angle you look at them from. and of course they happen in other people's lives, never in your own.
Mike McCormackI've told you before I'm not guilty of anything; I'm just guilty, that's all.
Mike McCormackTag: catholic-philosophy irish-writer
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