Monday Poetry : Light By – Saugat Upadhyay
light
Light is a way,
Light is a zone,
Light is a past,
Which shows the future.
Light is a mountain,
Light is a hurdle,
Light is a debt,
Which leads to the quest.
Light is a beginning,
Light is a end,
Light is a truth,
Which gives us a fruit.
Light is a flower,
Light is a fragrance,
Light is a life,
Which gives hope to survive.
Kilkenny Landscape images : Last Light Of Day – Poem by Mark De Pena
Kilkenny Landscape images
Last light of the day
Nigel Borrington
LAST LIGHT OF DAY.
Last light of day, a golden sunset
Last time to play, but I’m not done yet
I love a sunset, a golden late afternoon
This is as good as it gets, so I sit and croon
Croon about, this fortunate life
Grateful about a tolerant wife
Happy about the things I’ve done
Happy you are, the only one
Last light of day, we anticipate the night
Let me show the way, to pure delight
Let us sit in the moonlight, enjoy each other
Let me savour this sight, let me discover
Discover this person, that is you
Just simply conversin, between us two
Sometimes no words are needed to be said
That might sound absurd, but it’s what’s in my head
The Last Afternoon of March
That Last day of March
Irish Landscapes
Nigel Borrington
The Last afternoon of March 2016
This afternoon is bright and sunny
between the mountain clouds,
Springtime is in the air,
The weather is mild on this late March afternoon,
the breath of April is rising fast,
I am alone on the quiet mountain top
looking down on an old untried illusion
Some shadows sit on the green landscape below
memory’s rise from their sleep,
The crows fly above while others rest
on the stone walls of this mountain side,
In the air as hunting birds call
the fast hover of the kestrels wings.
European passage tombs ( Knockroe, county Kilkenny and Kilmartin, Argyll, Scotland )
Knockroe, county Kilkenny
Knockroe http://www.megalithicireland.com/Knockroe%20Passage%20Tomb.html
Kilmartin, Argyll, Scotland
Kilmartin http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kilmartin_Glen
A link through time
These two mystical European locations stand two hundred and fifteen miles apart, Knockroe is in county Kilkenny republic of Ireland and the other, Kilmartin is in Argyll, Scotland, about 15 miles south of Oban.
The reason I displaying these images in the same post is simply to highlight something that only occurred to me when one year I happened to visit them only weeks apart. The fact is you could view these two sites individually and study them by themselves all you like, however you would be missing something very important!
The people’s who created these sites shared the same time period and clearly the same beliefs and culture. They lived in Europe both in Ireland and Scotland located in the Geographical British Isles; however some 5500 years ago they knew nothing of recent nations and nationalism , of national borders or even the concept of a European nation.
Both monuments are passage tombs, placed for their dead to be remembered, they both also contain elements for marking the passing of the year and its seasons, by measuring the movement of the sun and the moon.
The structures in these places along with the cultural function they served is identical, to me this shows that these people traveled the seas and not only shared goods and beliefs they in fact where the same peoples. They did not just get on with each other through trade they were each other as brother and sister, mother and father, family and friends.
When they knew nothing of modern boundaries and divisions, what else could they be?
These same people who traveled from one place to another in order to expand their options and abilities did not in any shape or form see themselves as English or Scottish or Irish they were family to each other and nothing more or less!
Tuesdays Artist – Bernadette Kiely
Bernadette Kiely. Gorse
I first came across the drawings and paintings of the county Kilkenny based artist Bernadette Kiely, while attending a two year art course at the Grennan mill craft school.
I liked Bernadette’s art work from the very first time I viewed it, I feel she captures completely the local landscape that surrounds us here in County Kilkenny. The county while not the most spectacular in Ireland varies a lot from low boggy lands and flooded river banks and mountain tops.
A little About, Bernadette Kiely
Bernadette Kiely was born in Carrick on Suir, County Tipperary and grew up beside the river Suir. She graduated from The College of Art and Design at Waterford Institute of Technology with a distinction in Graphic Design and worked in graphic design and architecture in New York and London before taking up painting full time in 1984. She attended the Slade School of Fine Art in London and has been working in her studio beside the river Nore in Thomastown, County Kilkenny since 1992. Her paintings and drawings are based on prolonged observation of specific landscape elements and are characterised by her attention to the close up worlds of bog cotton, gorse, mud, lichen and other natural phenomena including weather and atmospheric conditions on the river Nore and its environs. Bernadette Kiely is a member of Aosdana.
As with yesterday’s artist, I have linked to both web-site and to some on the painting I like the most …
Irish landscapes – Kilkenny , an evening in early springtime
Irish Landscapes
Early Springtime
Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington
The last of today’s sunlight was just perfect ….
This evening I took a walk along some of our local lanes , up in the hills near the village of Windgap, Kilkenny. The sun hung low in the sky an hour before sunset and filled the fields with vivid greens and long shadows from the hedgerow trees, just such a wonderful sense of early springtime which is just around the corner now, you can feel it just waiting to burst through…..
This is the best time of year with so many great months ahead of us ……
Irish Landscapes – Mount Juliet Estate, Co.Kilkenny
Irish Landscapes
Mount Juliet Estate
county Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington
Mount Juliet was built in 1757 by the Earl of Carrick in compliment to his wife, Lady Juliana (Juliet). This estate has very strong Norman associations and in particular with the great Butler family.
The estate was originally two separate estates called Walton’s Grove and Ballylinch. The Waltons were the owners until 1653 when they were dispossessed by Oliver Cromwell. It later fell into the hands of King James II. It was then sold to a Mr Sweet, followed by a Mr Kendal who changed it’s name to ‘Kendal’s Grove’ in 1719. Mr Kendal left the entire property to the local Rev. Bushe who retrieved an important portfolio for him after being ‘mugged’ by a highway!
Rev. Bushe was wildly extravagant, ran up enormous debts and eventually sold the estate to his neighbour, the Earl of Carrick. It remained in this family from the 1750s until 1914, when the present Earl sold the estate to the McCalmont family who lived here until quite recently.
County Kilkenny, Landscapes images from a cycle
Cycling Kilkenny
As the new year began in full, I made the decision to get my cycle back on the road for 2016, I have owned this bike for about 18 years and during that time made some great use of it. Over the last few years however I had been using it less and less, so I guess its time to start some new adventures on it.
I finished getting everything back to a good condition, with a service about two weeks ago and have been taking local trips as often as possible during January.
I feel already that it is great to be out on the open road and its good to be able to just stop where you like and take out the camera to get some images, no need for finding a place to park up and you can stop the moment you see something, anything, you want a picture of.
As evening falls
Irish Landscapes
Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington
As evening falls,
Beauty of nature she calls
A warm orange glow does surround us
Casting a magical light all around
The sky like a fire does glow
Rippling water like flames do flow
Then as the sun dips behind the trees
And daylight reluctantly flees
Night does now appear
Yet its darkness do not fear
For in the inky dark sky
A new beauty is up high
The moon glows its mysterious light
While stars glisten and twinkle in the night.
Ghost House, Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963
Ghost House
Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.
O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;
The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.
It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.
They are tireless folk, but slow and sad—
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had
A December sunset, County Kilkenny, Ireland
Irish Landscapes
Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington
To-night the west o’er-brims with warmest dyes;
Its chalice overflows
With pools of purple colouring the skies,
Aflood with gold and rose;
And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,
As sinks the sun within that world of wine.
Monday Poetry : Reluctance, By Robert Frost
Kilkenny Landscapes
Nigel Borrington
Reluctance
By Robert Frost
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question ‘Whither?’
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
Monday Poetry : Light Between The Trees, By – Henry Van Dyke
Irish Landscapes
Nigel Borrington
Light Between The Trees
Author: Henry Van Dyke
Long, long, long the trail
Through the brooding forest-gloom,
Down the shadowy, lonely vale
Into silence, like a room
Where the light of life has fled,
And the jealous curtains close
Round the passionless repose
Of the silent dead.
Plod, plod, plod away,
Step by step in mouldering moss;
Thick branches bar the day
Over languid streams that cross
Softly, slowly, with a sound
Like a smothered weeping,
In their aimless creeping
Through enchanted ground.
“Yield, yield, yield thy quest,”
Whispers through the woodland deep;
“Come to me and be at rest;
I am slumber, I am sleep.”
Then the weary feet would fail,
But the never-daunted will
Urges “Forward, forward still!
Press along the trail!”
Breast, breast, breast the slope
See, the path is growing steep.
Hark! a little song of hope
Where the stream begins to leap.
Though the forest, far and wide,
Still shuts out the bending blue,
We shall finally win through,
Cross the long divide.
On, on, on we tramp!
Will the journey never end?
Over yonder lies the camp;
Welcome waits us there, my friend.
Can we reach it ere the night?
Upward, upward, never fear!
Look, the summit must be near;
See the line of light!
Red, red, red the shine
Of the splendour in the west,
Against Winter – Poem by Charles Simic
Winter is Coming
Nigel Borrington
Today is a Public Holiday here in Ireland and the last before Christmas, So I went out this morning for a long walk with The Dog. The Weather is very wintry with heavy rain, perfect weather to get some moody Images as I walked along some of our local country lanes.
The Seasons are turning very quickly now and winter is coming, these walks will be cold and wet for a few weeks, yet this time of year brings its own atmosphere, one that I love very much. Its great to return home put the fire on and have a hot drink or some warm soup.
Against Winter –
Charles Simic
The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it?
The birds are silent; there’s no one to ask.
All day long you’ll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you’ll shiver like straw.
A meek little lamb you grew your wool
Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth,
Then they, too, flew off like the leaves,
The bare branches reached after them in vain.
Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you’ll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor comes to yell at you,
You’re crazier than the weather, Charlie.
Images of Kilkenny, Autumn on the river Barrow
Autumn on river the Barrow Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington
Autumn is just starting to take a hold here in County Kilkenny, some green remains but a lot of the trees are just starting to turn yellow, as these pictures taken during a walk along the river Barrow show.
Autumn colours reflected in the almost still water of the river as it flows through the county on the last week in September 2015.
Kilkenny landscapes (harvest time) , The Harvest Poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
The Harvest
Written by Duncan Campbell Scott
Sun on the mountain,
Shade in the valley,
Ripple and lightness
Leaping along the world,
Sun, like a gold sword
Plucked from the scabbard,
Striking the wheat-fields,
Splendid and lusty,
Close-standing, full-headed,
Toppling with plenty;
Shade, like a buckler
Kindly and ample,
Sweeping the wheat-fields
Darkening and tossing;
There on the world-rim
Winds break and gather
Heaping the mist
For the pyre of the sunset;
And still as a shadow,
In the dim westward,
A cloud sloop of amethyst
Moored to the world
With cables of rain.
Acres of gold wheat
Stir in the sunshine,
Rounding the hill-top,
Crested with plenty,
Filling the valley,
Brimmed with abundance,
Wind in the wheat-field
Eddying and settling,
Swaying it, sweeping it,
Lifting the rich heads,
Tossing them soothingly
Twinkle and shimmer
The lights and the shadowings,
Nimble as moonlight
Astir in the mere.
Laden with odors
Of peace and of plenty,
Soft comes the wind
From the ranks of the wheat-field,
Bearing a promise
Of harvest and sickle-time,
Opulent threshing-floors
Dusty and dim
With the whirl of the flail,
And wagons of bread,
Sown-laden and lumbering
Through the gateways of cities.
When will the reapers
Strike in their sickles,
Bending and grasping,
Shearing and spreading;
When will the gleaners
Searching the stubble
Take the last wheat-heads
Home in their arms ?
Ask not the question! –
Something tremendous
Moves to the answer.
Hunger and poverty
Heaped like the ocean
Welters and mutters,
Hold back the sickles!
Millions of children
Born to their mothers’ womb,
Starved at the nipple, cry,–
Ours is the harvest!
Millions of women
Learned in the tragical
Secrets of poverty,
Sweated and beaten, cry,–
Hold back the sickles!
Millions of men
With a vestige of manhood,
Wild-eyed and gaunt-throated,
Shout with a leonine
Accent of anger,
Leaves us the wheat-fields!
When will the reapers
Strike in their sickles?
Ask not the question;
Something tremendous
Moves to the answer.
Long have they sharpened
Their fiery, impetuous
Sickles of carnage,
Welded them aeons
Ago in the mountains
Of suffering and anguish;
Hearts were their hammers
Blood was their fire,
Sorrow their anvil,
(Trusty the sickle
Tempered with tears;)
Time they had plenty-
Harvests and harvests
Passed them in agony,
Only a half-filled
Ear for their lot;
Man that has taken
God for a master
Made him a law,
Mocked him and cursed him,
Set up this hunger,
Called it necessity,
Put in the blameless mouth
Juda’s language:
The poor ye have with you
Always, unending.
But up from the impotent
Anguish of children,
Up from the labor
Fruitless, unmeaning,
Of millions of mothers,
Hugely necessitous,
Grew by a just law
Stern and implacable,
Art born of poverty,
The making of sickles
Meet for the harvest.
And now to the wheat-fields
Come the weird reapers
Armed with their sickles,
Whipping them keenly
In the fresh-air fields,
Wild with the joy of them,
Finding them trusty,
Hilted with teen.
Swarming like ants,
The Idea for captain,
No banners, no bugles,
Only a terrible
Ground-bass of gathering
Tempest and fury,
Only a tossing
Of arms and of garments;
Sexless and featureless,
(Only the children
Different among them,
Crawling between their feet,
Borne on their shoulders;)
Rolling their shaggy heads
Wild with the unheard-of
Drug of the sunshine;
Tears that had eaten
The half of their eyelids
Dry on their cheeks;
Blood in their stiffened hair
Clouted and darkened;
Down in their cavern hearts
Hunger the tiger,
Leaping, exulting;
Sighs that had choked them
Burst into triumphing;
On they come, Victory!
Up to the wheat-fields,
Dreamed of in visions
Bred by the hunger,
Seen for the first time
Splendid and golden;
On they come fluctuant,
Seething and breaking,
Weltering like fire
In the pit of the earthquake,
Bursting in heaps
With the sudden intractable
Lust of the hunger:
Then when they see them-
The miles of the harvest
White in the sunshine,
Rushing and stumbling,
With the mighty and clamorous
Cry of a people
Starved from creation,
Hurl themselves onward,
Deep in the wheat-fields,
Weeping like children,
After ages and ages,
Back at the mother the earth.
Night in the valley,
Gloom on the mountain,
Wind in the wheat,
Far to the southward
The flutter of lightning,
The shudder of thunder;
But high at the zenith,
A cluster of stars
Glimmers and throbs
In the gasp of the midnight,
Steady and absolute,
Ancient and sure
The West Wind by John Masefield
The West Wind by John Masefield
IT’S a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills.
And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils.
It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine.
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest,
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest.
“Will ye not come home brother? ye have been long away,
It’s April, and blossom time, and white is the may;
And bright is the sun brother, and warm is the rain,–
Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again?
“The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run.
It’s blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun.
It’s song to a man’s soul, brother, fire to a man’s brain,
To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again.
“Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat,
So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet?
I’ve a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes,”
Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries.
It’s the white road westwards is the road I must tread
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head,
To the violets, and the warm hearts, and the thrushes’ song,
In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong.
Irish Landscape(Kilkenny) with a Poem : Independent Heart , by Jodie Moore
Independent Heart
Soft words you spoken
From the heart that is broken
I know deep inside
You have a level of independence
With a mystery of suspense
You are recovering
Waiting for someone
To catch on to the discovering
Of the real you
With a heart so true
Giving of your best
Expecting nothing less
While hurt is making amends
Leaning on loving friends
Accounted for in time you spend
With words you write
Not giving into a broken hearts flight
Staying strong
Carrying others like me along
by Jodie Moore
When Great Trees Fall, By : Maya Angelou
When Great Trees Fall
By : Maya Angelou
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
Monday Poetry , Canal Life, By : Ian McMillan
Ian McMillan
Canal Life
The canal tells you stories
The canal sings you songs
They hang in that space
Between memory and water
Once saw a narrowboat raised up,
Like it was cutting through the air,
Between two grass walls and the road below
Like it was sliding through history,
And a tiny vole swam across the water
So a tiny vole swam through history.
The canal tells you stories
The canal sings you songs
Once saw a man floating belly up in a canal
Like he was in the bath. He shouted
‘This is the life’ as I passed by on a narrowboat;
The sky was reflected in the surface
And we tied up in the places the map never showed us,
The man floating by, making ripples on the surface.
They hang in that space
Between memory and water
Once got waved at by a jogger as I stood gongoozling
On the towpath; her running gave rhythm
To the early afternoon, dog-strollers and kids
Who’d rather be here than sitting in school.
To gongoozle is to stand and watch narrowboats pass
And a canal is a lesson, a water-based school.
The canal tells you stories
The canal sings you songs
Once these canals were information highways
If coal and iron can be information,
And I think they can be. And there are bridges,
Pub gardens, the laughter of children
As they walk by the water; and the canals
Turn us all into curious children.
They hang in that space
Between memory and water
Once is never enough for a canal, I reckon;
You need to go back and see it again,
And sail it again, and smell it again, and
Touch it again; canals run through our veins
Like they stroll through this country
Like blood through our veins.
The canal tells you stories
The canal sings you songs
They hang in that space
Between memory and water
County Kilkenny Landscape images, south east Ireland through a lens
Kilkenny Landscape Images
Nigel Borrington
Summertime in County Kilkenny can bring some wonderful changes to the surrounding landscape and today I just want to share a gallery of images taken during the following months.
It a great time of year with so much to look forward to ……
County Kilkenny Landscape Gallery
The Old Lane Through The Woods – Poem by jim hogg , Kilkenny Landscape photography
The Old Lane Through The Woods
Black and white landscapes
Nigel Borrington
The Old Lane Through The Woods –
Poem by jim hogg
There’s a track through the trees from the White to the Black
that I walked as a kid and I often went back.
Now the years slip away and the distances grow,
but if time gives us time and we get to change tack
if the notion should take you then I’d gladly go:
in wildest November before winter’s trance,
at the height of the spring when the daffodils dance.
We could stand on the bank where the Rhodies convene,
like the first of our kind who looked down on that scene,
on a loch with no name, with no castles around,
or old burial ground of the meek and the mean;
though the rich bled the poor, by the sod they’re all bound.
Or we’ll maybe just stay on the old woodland road
and head north to the Black with the odd jumping toad.
There’s a whole constellation of things we can view.
In the summer there’s herons and sometimes deer too,
and there’s dodging and weaving through armies of leaves.
Though the foxgloves are rare I’ll find one just for you,
and then swing on the Ivy through Sycamore trees.
If you ever have time we could wander off down
that old lane through the woods whether wintry or lown.
But I know all too well that this life is a crush.
There’d be too much to do if we didn’t all rush.
And I wonder sometimes how it all went so wrong;
but they’re calling it progress with hardly a blush –
in a world where rich hippies can still sing along.
There’s a place where that craziness doesn’t hold sway;
if you’re ever back home we could go there some day
The Ice house , Woodstock Gardens , County Kilkenny
The Ice House,
Woodstock Gardens, Co. Kilkenny
Irish Landscape Photography : Nigel Borrington
Woodstock Gardens, County Kilkenny – dates back to 1737.
The Gardens and the remains of the old house are one of county Kilkenny’s most popular locations, located above the River Nore and the small town of Inistioge.
The Ice house is most likely less known, as it is located on the banks of the river Nore on the very limits of the grounds, it is however one of the best preserved ICE houses you could wish to find.
The details on the information board nearby are a little unclear as to when this building was constructed but it is considered to be sometime in the 1800’s, it was used for visitors to the smaller river side lodge, named the “Red House”.
The ‘Red House’ was a hunting lodge that at the time could only be accessed via boat along the river, today however you can find this location via a half an hour walk from the town of Inistioge.
A General History of ice houses
The Romans were the first to build ice houses, though not very widely in the UK and Not at all in Ireland. Ice houses were usually built close to sources of winter ice, such as freshwater lakes. In the 17th century, grand country houses followed the fashion of having one built, and then ice houses fell from fashion until about the late 18th century.
—————–
Uses of ice houses
On country estates from about 1660, the ice was mainly used not to chill food, but for its own sake: for ice creams and increasingly popular desserts such as syllabubs.
Meat and fish did not need to be preserved on a large estate because they could simply be caught from estate lakes and ponds when needed. Ice was also used for medicinal purposes: to treat fever and inflammation. At one time, a common prescription for indigestion was being told to suck on ice.
—————–
Woodstock House,
now a ruin, was for generations the home to the Tighe family. In 1737, the twenty-six-year-old Sir William Fownes inherited the estate and commissioned an elegant mansion, completed in 1745. He hoped to establish himself with the gentry of the area and to impress the 2nd Viscount Duncannon, soon to become the first Earl of Bessborough, whose daughter Elisabeth he planned to marry. Over the next forty-five years, Woodstock was the background to a series of dramas that led to the deaths of William, Elisabeth and their son-in-law William Tighe.
Many gardens and walks were laid out between 1840 and 1900 by another William Tighe and his wife Lady Louisa Lennox.[1] The gardens contain many exotic plants from Asia and South America, including the Monkey Puzzle tree and the Noble Fir tree which form two of the walks in the gardens,[2] as well as specimens of the Coast Redwood.
In 1921, the property was occupied by the Black and Tans and Auxiliaries, which caused much local resentment, and then by troops of the Free State Army, who were withdrawn from the premises during the Irish Civil War, on 1 July 1922. The house, left unguarded, was burnt down the next day, and remains a derelict empty shell, overgrown with vegetation
The River Nore, County Kilkenny,
located below the Ice House.
Nigel Borrington
First week of November 2016, My favorite week of posting ever …… Thank you !!!!
Irish Landscape
GarryDuff woods
Piltown
County Kilkenny
Nigel Borrington
Friday and the first week of November is fast approaching the weekend 🙂
I have been posting on my blog since 2011 and yet I feel that this has been my favorite week of posting here so far !!!
I was able to share a wider variety of the media that I love using to capture the Irish landscape than ever before, I love photography but it was great to also be able to share some video and one of a set of drawings from a visit to Achill island, county Mayo.
A big thank you to anyone who visited and for the many likes and comments I received, I always look forward to hearing from and connecting with you , so thank you !!! 🙂
Have a great weekend what ever you find yourselves doing !!!
GarryDuff hill, county kilkenny, Sunset Gallery
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November 4, 2016 | Categories: Comment, Gallery, Images for the weekend, irish woodlands, Kilkenny Landscape images, kilkenny photography, Landscape | Tags: Irish Landscapes, Kilkenny, Landscape Photography, Nigel Borrington, November, Thank you, weekend | 13 Comments