Walking in Wicklow

Today, Yom Kippur, we went walking up the river in Wicklow with Ilsa and Pierre. There was not a soul in sight, except a lone fishermen trying to catch trout. The sun was warm, the breeze was fresh, the light strong, the air light. Raffie, who also came, jumped and tunnelled through the weeds, fell into the river and climbed a rock. We walked for three hours, through the mud, the grass, the rocks, the bog. Around us bare mountains, above passing clouds and the sound of water all the way through.