I was ten, maybe eleven, the summer I remember slipping away on my bike for hours at a time. A favorite destination was a rolling meadow filled with bike trails that cut a narrow swath through the wild wheat that grew there with abandon.
Time stood still on those days when I heeded the call of adventure with like-minded friends or my sisters. There was nothing more liberating than the sun on my face, the wind in my hair and the smell of my world ripe with wonder.
Fifty years later, I’d traded my bike for a tour bus, my wonder-lust for wanderlust; but there was no denying time stood still again as Ireland’s Cliffs of Moher filled every inch of the summer day spread so majestically before me.
Time stood still on those days when I heeded the call of adventure with like-minded friends or my sisters. There was nothing more liberating than the sun on my face, the wind in my hair and the smell of my world ripe with wonder.
Fifty years later, I’d traded my bike for a tour bus, my wonder-lust for wanderlust; but there was no denying time stood still again as Ireland’s Cliffs of Moher filled every inch of the summer day spread so majestically before me.
300 million year-old river channels cut through the Namurian shale and sandstone called the Cliffs of Moher.
Granted, the summer day didn’t feel as warm and bright as it did years ago. I’m convinced things look and feel differently when viewed through the lens of childhood anyway, covered in all that innocence. Then again, summers in Ireland don’t hold a candle to the blistering heat of summers along the east coast of the United States.
This southwest corner of Ireland’s Burren region in County Clare was dotted with tourists crawling like ants out of the busses and onto the cliffs;
This southwest corner of Ireland’s Burren region in County Clare was dotted with tourists crawling like ants out of the busses and onto the cliffs;
The Visitor's Center was built into the hillside, minimizing mankind's footprint; the ants were another matter.
it was a picnic of epic proportions, the main course O’Brien’s Tower.
There wasn't time to climb to the top of O'Brien's Tower. Too many ants, anyway.
Local landlord Sir Cornelius O’Brien built the observation tower in 1835 to impress the hundreds of Victorian tourists that flocked to the cliffs in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Aran Islands in Galway Bay or the Maumturks and Twelve Pins mountain ranges to the north. We’d moved far beyond the Victorian era, but the tourists were still flocking to get the best views of the cliffs.
I groaned inwardly, suddenly resenting the intrusion I was a part of. Of course, I’d been silently groaning most of the morning, my funk a factor of fatigue. This was day five crammed into a seat on a tour bus that was beginning to feel more and more like a seat on the Aer Lingus plane that had carried Jimmy and me across the Atlantic Ocean to the Emerald Isle. Needless to say, the closest I've every gotten to flying First Class has been the adjacent restroom.
Wordsworth came to mind as civilization receded and nature took center stage. Indeed, "The World Is Too Much With Us," I conceded as I dodged the ants climbing the hill.
I groaned inwardly, suddenly resenting the intrusion I was a part of. Of course, I’d been silently groaning most of the morning, my funk a factor of fatigue. This was day five crammed into a seat on a tour bus that was beginning to feel more and more like a seat on the Aer Lingus plane that had carried Jimmy and me across the Atlantic Ocean to the Emerald Isle. Needless to say, the closest I've every gotten to flying First Class has been the adjacent restroom.
Wordsworth came to mind as civilization receded and nature took center stage. Indeed, "The World Is Too Much With Us," I conceded as I dodged the ants climbing the hill.
Not much 'world' in this picture; just the way I like it.
Jimmy had gone on to O’Brien’s Tower without me, tiring of my obsession with the landscape via my viewfinder, i.e. my slow progress. I missed his company, but found solace in framing my world to suit my mood.
I had more company than I wanted just looking through my viewfinder.
Nature this magnificent always makes me feel insignificant, even as my heart swells to encompass the wisdom of the world laid bare for those willing to look beyond the flash and fanfare that too often serves as a distraction.
Few distractions from this angle.
In the vastness of this timeless place, I felt sad too, suddenly aware of just how much I missed nature's symphony.
The pounding of the surf was music to my ears.
My world beckoned – my ride, and a grinding schedule – as I reluctantly let go the magic of the moment, an unforgettable moment, as are all those moments that nurture the soul.
Wish I'd had the chance to take this aerial photo of the Cliffs of Moher from Ireland Tourism.
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