After my mother died, I decided to take my father on a trip to Ireland, a place he’d always wanted to visit. We found his own mother’s birthplace, drove 1,000 miles in 10 days, had some good times, got on each other’s nerves. Then, after laughing for days about how green the whole place was, we suddenly found this moonscape smack dab in the middle of the country. Rocks, ledges and only the occasional bush for miles and miles. No houses, no people, just stone. And some 90 megalithic tombs, a Celtic high cross and a number of ring forts, all of them stark and awesome (original meaning.) The “holy” nature of this barren landscape did not, however, dampen my enthusiasm to engage in yet one more jumping picture.
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