Ents On The N11

I've tried before to get these huge ivy-smothered trees framed just right and it's difficult. But I love their suggestiveness, the sense that they're about to shamble across the highway.

Undergrowth, or overgrowth, flora and fauna. Seems like it's the order of the day.

Earlier, down in Wexford, Sam had asked me to clear the brambles at the back of the cabin in the woods. I'm sure I've wielded a scythe before, once or twice in the distant past, and I got into that lovely swishing rhythm easily enough, all the mini-Ents swept away like so much prickly froth. Sam got startled by a frog that had been in the plastic overflow pipe, a fine full-grown fellow. Thankfully I hadn't injured him. Best to get him away from the dogs who knew something was up. Encasing his cool bony slipperiness in my fingers brought me straight back to the first large frog I caught, probably at around the wean's age. Perfectly camouflaged, he had been sitting, like stone atop a rock, in the midst of a tree-shadowed stream.