That rare old Irish weather

The weather on the west coast of Ireland is notoriously fickle. Don’t like it? Wait five minutes and then see if it has changed.

Monday started off fantastically, warm and sunny, with nary a cloud to be seen in the blue vault. By 9am it was dark, overcast, and you could feel a chill in the air. There was a threat of rain to come, and I could see people on their way to work in gloves, scarves, and hats.

The whole day was like this, gloomy and cold, until half past five, when the wind shifted, the clouds vanished, and the evening warmed up considerably. And the light changed as well. There’s no real way to put it into words except to say that when the light is just so, it is pretty much impossible to take a bad photo. After a brief debate with myself, I decided to put off the gym until tomorrow, when we’d probably have snow drifts anyways and make the most of the light.

I ran home, grabbed my gear, said hello to Jenny, Gabi, Mariah, and Michelle. I think there are some other men would trade their firstborn to have this many awesome women in their lives, although you could probably convince me trade mine for less. If you are a female friend who just read then, be assured that the remark was in fact directed at a different friend.

I’m should move on now, before I find my heart torn bloodily from my chest and held before my dying eyes by an aggravated woman.

So I grabbed my gear and went snapping. I think every tourist with a camera had the same idea. All the resident Irish seemed to have retreated to a pub, and the streets given over to roving packs of camera-toting followers.

I had a amicable wander around around Galway, first down Shop Street, then along the canals, then up through Claddagh, around Claddagh Basin, and finally home.

A stranger in a strange land
Ghost skater in Eyre Square
A golden carpet

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