What is it about photographs? It’s never been easier to take a picture of something and yet it’s never quite right. Or at least to me. When I was a young woman travelling in Europe, and later, living on an island off the west coast of Ireland, I took almost no photographs. How will you remember, people asked. And yet those experiences are as vivid to me now as things that happened yesterday. The olive groves on Crete, the harbour at Sant’Angelo on Ischia, the Slyne Head light flashing, the hedges of fuschia and flowering haw as I walked the Sky Road.
This morning, though — we woke to the moon in the western sky, caught in a tangle of tall fir boughs, with a skiff of cloud floating by. John, usually eager to photograph everything, insisted it wouldn’t work and went downstairs to make coffee. I went out on the deck and tried. Alas. He was right. But here’s my effort anyway.