Each season evokes a strong set of memories in each of us. Some are remnants from childhood and others reflect our general nature.
My memories of summer are of warm days with no cares – despite it generally being wet and worrisome. My memories of winter are of the short dark days and the gloom of another damp weather front spreading from the Atlantic. I assume that this is because of the natural cycle of my moods a much as anything.
This is Grafton St. in Dublin on a sunny winter Saturday. The sort of day you’d like to be dozing in in a sun room with the dog beside you and a cup of tea and some biscuits in your belly.
The battle of light and dark
The Beirut Taxi 