When Words Fail and Pictures Don't Tell The Story

I couldn't find the words I wanted to write yesterday and no photo of mine could tell the story.
Words, those instruments I use every day, failed me as I sat with a heavy heart, the image of a beautiful
young Indian woman imprinted on my brain.
By now, everyone knows the story of Savita Halvappanvar, the 31 year old dentist who died in a Galway hospital because doctors wouldn't listen to  her when she asked them to terminate the baby she
was miscarrying. She was told,  her husband reports, that as Ireland is a Catholic country, medical staff couldn't intervene once there was a foetal heartbelt. After three days of agony and an eventually operation, she died from septicaemia.
As well as carrying a sadness when I read the newspaper reports of what Savita had to endure and what her husband and family have to carry with them for the rest of their lives,  I am angry. Angry that a woman should die this way in Ireland in the 21st century.
Abortion remains  illegal in Ireland as the successive governments  have failed to bring in legislation in the wake of the X Case in which the Supreme Court stated that abortion was permissible in the case of 'real and substantive risk' to the mother's life.
Medical  intervention to save a woman's life is not the same as abortion on demand, yet in the case of Savita, it seems that doctors were reluctant to end her pregnancy even though the 17 week old baby  had no chance of survival.
Although I consider myself a feminist, I was never whole-heartedly 'pro-choice' but then I can't throw my hat in with the 'pro-life' brigade either who seem most vocal in defending the rights of the unborn over the born.
Having experienced the miracle of life growing within me, I feel that this  precious life shouldn't be ended unless there are very good grounds, such as when a woman's life is in danger or the child would be profoundly disabled with little chance of survival.  And what about women who are victims of rape or incest?
We elect politicians, appoint law makers and policy deciders to legislate so that tragedies like this don't  happen.
Sadly, the name of Savita is added to the list of women failed by the Irish State which must move to end the influence of religion over matters of life and death.
Rest in Peace Savita.

Holding on in November

Dull dreary drab November, how I hate thee.  A month which robs the world of colour, sucking the gold from the late autumn leaves,  covering the world in mist and clouds. A month of earthy browns and grays.

There are those who drown in the joylessness of the winter months, whose lives are sapped of energy by the dark days and long cold nights.

Others feel their hearts  pierced by the absence of sunshine.

But even as November sucks the colour from our lives, turns beautiful pink blooms to a mushy brown, we must remember that nature is already preparing for spring.

The seeds are getting ready to fly

and the buds beginning to appear.

There are  hidden flowers and berries for the birds.

                                                              Nature waits and so must we.

And Suddenly It's Winter

The lonesome cry of the curlew pierces the darkness of the night. Winter has arrived.
 For the ancient Celts, Oiche Shamhna or Halloween marked the end of summer and this year it has without doubt ushered in winter.

My father knew the signs which accompanied the seasons and pointed to the weather ahead. When the curlews and lapwings left the nearby shore and sought refuge in the fields, bad weather was on its way.

As I grow older, I feel I am becoming more attuned with the seasons.  Walking the countryside with a camera or a dog, I watch out for the signs of change - the lengthening shadows, the beam of light, the 

new foliage or the dying leaf. I note when the tide is in and when the sun sets, not just for photo opportunities but because it's part of our landscape.

A sharp frost last night crystalized the fallen leaves and blades of grass. I hurried out to catch the

beauty of the ice crystals before the sun melted them before my eyes, seeking out the shaded ditch

and sheltered meadow.

The Spooks Come Out To Play

The Big House behind the trees has a haunted room - or so my father used to say as he told ghost stories at Halloween.  He told  how, according to local lore, a stranger knocked on the door of the Big House one stormy night and was given shelter inside,  joining a card game which was being played by the gentry.  One of the players dropped a card, and reaching down to  pick it up, noticed that the new-comer to the game had a cloven foot and that they had, in fact, invited the devil to join them.  According to tradition, the room was boarded up and no one ever dared to enter.

Eddie, the charming owner of Bellurgan Park, knows the story well. And he knows the answer to the 'blocked up' room. An extra door leading to no where gives symmetry to the entrance hall.

So, it's totally appropriate that there's all sorts of spooky goings on taking place at the Big House this week.

I was fortunate to be able to get a behind the scenes look as the ghouls, witches,  vampires,  zombies and other spooks began their transformation in  preparation for going a-haunting throughout the house and in the woods.

The wonderful make-up artist  Aine Lawrence and assistants were hard at work creating a host of scary characters for the Kreepy Kids and Ghost Walk events.

Would  you dare walk in the forest? In the dark? Without any torch?

Autumn is for Hoarding

Autumn is all about hoarding. Hoarding food, hoarding images of bright colours and still warm days to keep the cold of winter at bay, hoarding memories of the year gone by as it slowly approaches its end.

Leaves on the bandstand in St Helena Park

Yesterday I decided to hoard some images.  It was bright and sunny. The autumn colours are approaching their best but a night's frost or strong wind could denude the trees.

View from Ice House Hill

 So I decided I'd devote Saturday to photography. But I'd forgotten that with himself away at a family celebration, I'd have to do all the chores, give the dog his first walk of the day, catch up with laundry and tidying the house.
I adjusted my plans and decided that rather than driving around the countryside, I'd take my camera  with me while doing the grocery shopping and get some shots how autumn also brings beauty to town.

Ice House Hill

 Dundalk is lucky to have two fine parks close to the centre of town - St Helena's Park with its lovely old bandstand and mature trees, and Ice House Hill, with its pond, public art and, of course, the ice house to which it owes its name.

Feeding the ducks in Ice House Hill

Wildfowl on the pond at Ice House Hill

The bandstand in St Helena Park