All Points North.


Picture-postcard views, coastal architecture like time capsules from the recent and further past, semi-secret coves, unexpected views into the quiet Sunday recreations of others.  All these things afforded by a day lazily walking and driving north along the Antrim Coast.

There is little better than sitting on the rocks in a barely accessible inlet beside a derelict smuggling/mining harbour, cut off from phone signal and GPS, the spring sun heating the rock pools, the waves plunking into gullies, the sky a blue straight from the primal past.

It’s a perfect time and place to sink into your own memory, your own self, to let the stuff of subconscious come forward and live in the light for a while.


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I play bass, I cook, I look out the window. Sometimes I prefer wondering what's out there to going out and looking. But not all the time. I only recently learned that leaving two spaces after a full stop is obsolete.

One thought on “All Points North.”

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