Recently, I have been struck with a sort of homesickness and longing for my deepest, most beautiful memories. Memories of a once and fleeting home that I found in the west of Ireland.
The short-lived home is one that seems to last the longest in our hearts. There is a sense of the unfinished, untied, loose ends that will forever beckon for us to return.
Sunsets are, to me, the most perfect embodiment of the word “temporary” as they last for mere minutes, burning so strong their light into our minds eye. They have the strength of a full, raging fire yet dissolve lightly into the horizon, kissing the sky goodnight, gracefully, gently.
This particular photo of a sunset is temporary in all senses of the word. It existed in that one split second where the camera was able to capture the action of the road passing by against the concreteness of the moving car. It is also a representation of the moment in time that I existed in Ireland. A time when I lived and learned, woke and slept with the rising and setting of the sun. It is lastly a moment of movement and transition as the car moseyed on the bumpy back road, shuffling me between two equally remote places. A one-road town and a country house set against a backdrop of roaming wild horses.
In the words of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas but the spirit of rolling Irish hills:
do not go gentle into that good night./rage, rage against the dying of the light.