Moss Gathering

On Friday, after helping put the wean to bed with an exhausted Sam, I took a drive out to Killiney Hill. I didn't expect to find anything, despite the dramatic gold light against slate-dark rainclouds. The place is almost too picturesque, surrounded by panoramic views of Dublin or, on the other side, the Bay stretching to the Wicklow Mountains.
The parking lot backs into woodland, near the crest of the hill. People park there to take in the full Dublin view, out to Dún Laoghaire harbour and beyond.

As soon as I got out of the car I noticed something oddly symmetrical through a gap in the bushes: aisles of pale plastic stakes, armour for skinny saplings. I had never seen this kind of plantation before, though I suppose it may be quite common. When I walked through the bushes and stood amongst them (each about as tall as a prosthetic limb), it was as if I'd wandered into an art installation, something to do with growth, but moreso with that old reliable theme, death. The regulariy of the spacing, combined with the paleness of the stakes, made them solemn as altar-candles or war graves.

I like the way they seem to be gathering around this moss-covered tree, as if attending a funeral.