When Fingers Flaherty got married, his (few) friends sadly shook their heads and whispered that the marriage would never last. As his battered car smoked away into the dusky distance, carrying the slightly happy couple to their new life together, his (few) friends wiped away the tears and prepared themselves for the inevitable catastrophe.
Flaherty wiped the cobwebs off his camera, determined to prove his (few) friends wrong.
He would create a photo album of the honeymoon, capturing the ecstatic promise of his first few days with his new (slightly damaged) wife.
The photo album was recently discovered in an abandoned attic.
Flaherty didn’t invite his (few) friends to his second wedding. Or his third wedding.
Life is an ocean, so the philosophers think. Life’s an ocean, them dusty philosophers think. Well, the storm’s a-brewin’, my boat’s startin’ to sink.
There’s a light, a certain kind of light, that pours over the landscape on a winter afternoon, enveloping the mountains in a languid melancholy, making the sea contemplate the ebbs and flows of its transient life. The birds have long since flown away, leaving behind their silent sad song. Summer seems but a distant memory. Spring is some vague promise from a casual friend. A promise you certainly wouldn’t bet your farm on. Anyway your farm has already been repossessed. By her new husband.
It’s Fingers Flaherty’s favourite time of the day…
There ain’t nothing new to see under God’s blue skies. I tell ya, nothing new to see under them blue and shiverin’ skies, ‘Specially when ya look at them through bloodshot alcoholic eyes.
This photo was taken earlier this month in Omeath, County Louth, overlooking the sublime serenity of Carlingford Lough towards the stern majesty of the Mourne mountains. On a crisp autumn day here, you can feel the eternal spirit of nature vibrate in the depths of your soul. You feel insignificant and blessed in the same timeless instant.
What would Fingers Flaherty think if he were standing here? What would he see when he looked at this view?
Fingers would probably say the rain isn’t far off. He’d complain about the grey chill. And he’d start wondering where the next drink is going to come from…