After we were batted about, with altitudenous gaels, the towns embroidered streets, we finally made it on to lambay bay. This was the land’s end, the last fingers, knuckled, rhuematic.

In this relief landscape of subtleties, time crept. Landscape cycles evade the sun, in an endless slow effacement at the sun’s hands. Apt for a country with little to no boundaries between one season and the next, buildings whose outliens appear stretches against the canvas of their backdrops. Hard to pick out. Small openings, subdued interiors.