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The Connemara wind

This sound I’m hearing, is it the wind reverberating through the twelve bens? An echo from across the ocean? Maybe a ghostly hungry moan lingering from the past?

(Or Yvonne: could it be the humming sound that comes from past-their-shelflife hearing aids when the batteries are left in overnight by mistake?)

Whatever the case, this “green swathe of soft glens, pasture and rainy hills” and the “swathes of white sand”, are places “fit for thinking”, as Tim Scott put it in The Guardian over a decade ago.

And photography is a way of thinking a place.

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