Ribbons at St Berahert’s Well
I have a habit of assigning auras to places. Some streets feel hostile, some ruins feel tragic and some fields feel telepathic. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the places that move me most, not chosen for comfort or beauty, but for something closer to honour.Unsurprisingly, one of my favourites is not a cathedral or a curated heritage site with a gift shop flogging leprechauns and laminated wayfinders. It is a marshy field in Tipperary, with no signpost and many ribbons blowing from the trees....