Donegal, Derry, Armagh and back.

We are staying in Meath now.

Knots of bright yellow dance in my mind as I sit here listening to the fridge sighing. The scenes we drove through today recurr to me. From Donegal to Derry to Armagh. The highlands of Donegal all brown and bronze, tussocks of grey grass studding the fields, black rows trailing in the wake of the plough, squat mountains swathed in cloud. That piece of the landscape had a certain wildness to it that is notably absent here in Meath. Then there was the city of Derry, and one town after another; they suffer some kind of synthesis when exposed to recollection; mercilessly flattened into a single idea.  I guess that happens when you drive all day; you see a lot but don't really see anything.  Hopefully I can go back and see them again.