The Colours of Weather (or, An Amazingly Ordinary Extraordinary Journey)

Today was a lovely day, but like waves lapping on the coastline, the tiredness washed over me from time to time, due mainly to the fact I stayed up until 5am yesterday writing the previous post. Anyway, the day which greeted me upon arising from my sleep in Galway was a little drab, to say the least, slightly drizzly, and very windy. As I drove north and veered into the wilds of Mayo, the landscape changed with the weather, or vice versa, I'm not sure. The grey skies continued while I journeyed through the flat boglands around Kilkelly, but upon reaching the main road, at Swinford, the bogs turned to green fields and the sun broke through the clouds. I was able to enjoy the scenery due to the constant slow driving of almost everyone who was in front of me. The road rage was never far away, but it was tempered by the beautiful ripples of the dark-flowing river Moy, which I crossed and recrossed on my journey. This is a view I took when I stopped at Crockettstown, outside of Ballina.

And this one was taken from the same vantage point, facing north over Killala Bay to the Atlantic, where I saw clear blue skies. It was a good omen.

So as I arrived in the village of Enniscrone (or 'Inniscrone', depending on which road sign you read) I was treated to the sight of an elderly gent in a hi-vis vest directing traffic flow. I knew that there was a community 'festival' on (i.e. 'entertainment' on the side of a truck with a bad sound system and a bunch of market vendors selling trinkets nobody really needs. It's a phenomenon in many Irish country towns, and I have participated in a few myself over the years. Some quite recently. But I digress.) I was not surprised to learn that this fellow was keeping traffic away from a riverside boreen which was packed with people to watch rubber duck racing. I had an hour to kill before setting up for the gig (which was not connected to the 'festival' in the village itself) so I set myself up in the sand dunes, facing out to sea, with the sun on my neck, and fell asleep.
(One final photo, Enniscrone beach, 2pm ish)

So back to the theme, after we played the gig, we loaded the gear into the vans parked out back of the venue, which was on the sea side of the building. The sun was low at this point, and sparkled gold on the waves, bathing the town in front of me in that pretty yellow-orange shade that's so hard to describe and happens so rarely that it's almost impossible to capture on camera. (I tried, but see previous post as to why it was futile.) As the road climbed out of the village, the sunset was in my rearview mirror, but ahead of me, above the golden light was a massive thunderhead, stark grey, and directly over my path. As I drove into the rain, I saw a clear double rainbow very close to my right. The fields were that bright colour of green that you get when the rain has freshly fallen, so bright that you could almost see the life in them. As it happened, the road veered around to the right, and I felt myself passing under the storm clouds, the light changing from yellow to dark grey, and then almost blue in a matter of seconds. And then, in the middle of it all, around a bend in the road, I saw the base of the rainbow, almost like it were directly blocking my path, challenging me to chase it. I drove through it, and felt like I had achieved something intangible, but I couldn't say what that was. A minute later, the road veered east again, passing between the sea and the Ox Mountains, and in my mirror I could see behind me, from the other side of the storm clouds I had just passed, the last rays of the sunset streaking up, making the clouds bleed purple, scarlet and many shades of pink. From there, the light began to seep away, dusk taking over the weather palette. The sea on my left was a black-grey motion, with headlands and dunes in a lighter shade of blue-grey. On my right, the mountains were green, with fog and drizzle misting over the peaks. As I got closer to Ballisodare, the road became almost enclosed by overhanging trees, the type which will always remind me of horror stories heard as a child. In the final stage of my trip, it was actually dark, and the headlights lit up a rolling green landscape, crisscrossed with narrow country lanes until finally I reached my folk's place.

I can't really explain why I felt the need to describe the day, but it occurs to me that the colours of nature and weather, and especially the influence that each has on the other, are all to often taken for granted. I do it myself. But sometimes nature and weather combine, to almost roar 'TAKE NOTICE OF ME', and you can't understand why you ignore this so much of the time.

I don't know how to end this.
Peace and Love
Derm