The Unpaved Path

There is always something awe-inspiring about the clash of the land and the sea. Sometimes it will be a mutual agreement where the dirt softens to sand and allows the water to course above and between the loam. Other times we witness two monolithic titans battling to impose there will on the other in a war across centuries.

Today we saw an example of the latter.


The Cliffs of Moher are a stunning example of natural beauty and the impact of the sea. One could believe that this great wall of rock was a direct result of the sheering of Pangaea, of God tearing apart the continents and scattering them to the far corners of the earthly world. In stark opposition to this idea, or maybe a stubborn opponent to the action itself, a single pillar of stone rises through the dark waters, a lone bastion against the ever pounding tide. Though worn, it proudly stands its ground, giving nary an inch to the coursing deep.


Upon our arrival at the battlegrounds, we saw the modern condition imprinting itself upon the ancient scene. The horde of people were inescapable, covering the entire field of view. Cut into the earth, shops paid the one favor their parasitic bodies were capable of: causing minimal damage to the picturesque outside despite boring into the crust. Further ahead, development had not been as kind. A stairway had been constructed up to the highest point, a fence placed between humanity and the call of the verge. At the peak stood a miniature castle for tourists to have their entertainment fill and return to their pretty little lives. A look to the right brought my eyes to see the end of asphalt and the beginning of mud.

I decided to follow this path to a more natural setting.


There were still many people here, but due to the difficulty of traversing the path, the amount was much more manageable. Rather than the stifling crowds that blocked every sightline, these were fellow travelers who understood that everyone deserved the opportunity to see and capture the cliffs untarnished by each other.20180803_121616.jpg

On the return back to the bus, the fog began to roll in. The monoliths were consumed by the mist, a firm reminder that while we may witness the cliffs and the sea, they will be warring long after our vision fades and our bodies turn to dust.