I hate thorns.

This weeks five min walk unwittingly took me to a very dark place. Beautiful in the landscape and the people. County Donegal in the far north of the island is the stuff of legend and song. But as I stood on the waters edge looking out over the old pier in Buncrana, I felt  a darkness.

Most old piers have a story to tell

I couldn’t explain it but something didn’t feel right. Every time I lifted my camera I felt a weight pushing my arms down as if gravity was protecting something.

Often when you get close to an old bit of wood, looking through a hole in the timber, it will frame something beautiful that you didn’t see before.

Or when you spot an unsuspecting sole on a peaceful beach you often feel that they are in a beautiful moment of mind.

I didn’t get that and I should have realized why.

When I got back home and searched for those words ‘Old Buncrana pier’, a much more recent event dominated the pages before me.

And the I realized what gravity was protecting. My gut was right and now it aches with sadness.

Every rose does indeed have it’s thorn.

Ireland is no different.