J Macormac
Google
Barren beauty. Hill grasses. Tall masts. Tall tales told between old friends. Pressure in the ears from the steep ascent to the car park. A mallard in flight. Lookouts. The city spread out below us in panorama, the cranes, the sports pitches, towers, suburbs, the docks and the mouth of the Lough beyond. Traffic flowing like tiny insects along the Boucher road. Sun appearing sporadically through cloud cover. Pervasive peace so near the city hubbub, yet feeling disassociated from the big smokey smokestack trappings. Triangulation stones. Wooden walkways over caked mud. Puddles remain. Sensible shoes. Eerie sound of wind whistling through metal gateposts. Red lights seen by thousands of eyes every single night. Nowhere discreet to piss when the cafe is closed.