This past three months, Ireland has been blanketed in the worst rain filled clouds on record. The gray has been unrelenting and the sun a source of bitter jokes. Yesterday we saw it most of the day. I stopped at the village shop to pick up a parcel of books from Createspace. Kevin the shopkeeper and I had an interesting conversation:
Me: “What’s that bright thing up there. I seem to rememeber seeing that.
Kevin: “Yes that is the sun I’m told. You must have been travelling and seen it somewhere else, not in Ireland.”
Weather complaints are not a new thing for we who live in soggy green Ireland or indeed the neighbouring islands of Great Britain. It’s the subject starter of almost all conversations. I have been writing the last of the Daniel Series – Trial and the chapter I’m on now is set in the Dawes home near the village of Eze Bord de Mer.
That’s an area I know well and have escaped to many times both in reality and in my imagination. I think I set this chapter there as an escape. The grey dullness outside my study window drove me to the bright sparkling azure blue skies and seas of the Mediterranean.
The smell and vivid yellow light of the Mimosa. The cheerful studding of Oranges and Lemons on the trees. The liberation of few clothes and the caress of the sun.
The sight of bare golden (mostly) beautiful people worshiping beneath it.
Wandering on the Promenade des Anglais taking in the sights. Calling into the Negresco Hotel to see the art opulence and old-world jet-set glamour.
Eating in it’s quirky La Rotonde restaurant amid bright hobby horses, funfair music and ancient women in furs cradling pampered poodles.
Walking on the roof garden of the Museum of Modern Art taking in the panorama and marvelling at being aloud to be in such precariously exacting place.
Eating Socca and Pissaladiere in the old town and trying not to notice the graffiti that is smeared on every wall. Mostly though its draw is the Alps behind and the blue sea in front and the light, that very special light that drew the great artists to live and work in the area. That light penetrates deep and lifts the spirit.
I’m there now in my imagination, escaping the gray. Oh – the sun has come out as I write this. I must get out and say hello and maybe lay in the garden or see if the sun will make the water lilies in the pond bloom at last.