Fast Sky, Wicklow

Attended a funeral service this morning, the father of an old friend, D, who couldn't make it over from Australia (though he had said his goodbyes just a week ago, on a brief visit). Outside the large, square, draughty modern church, weather chased its tail, wild sun and murky cloud-pallette. The reception was in a golf club in the Wicklow mountains off Old Conna Road. Partly because of bad directions and partly because of my own stupidity, I drove around for over an hour searching for it, visiting two other clubs, driving over a mountain and back, hissing through flooded patches of road, being dazzled by sudden sweeping vistas that opened at an odd swerve or a gap in a hedge. Found it eventually. The family ? mother, brothers and their wives ? were warm and very welcoming. An air of chastened celebration mixed with real sadness (the father was much loved, but had endured a bad last few years suffering from Parkinsons).