“It’s worth a look,” a man said, pointing down a path seriously encroached by prickly blackberry bramble.
I was out with some friends for a Sunday walk, an eight kilometre loop through the Burren in Clare, Ireland when we saw a young couple, dressed in brightly coloured hillwalking attire. They startled us, at first, stumbling out of a thicket of trees hugging an old, crumbling stone wall that was covered in ivy.
“You’ll just need the light from your phone,” he said, as he and his partner went on their way with no further explanation.
I didn’t hesitate. I squeezed my way along the wall, trying desperately not to get too scratched up by the undisciplined bramble and leafless winter branches that were growing from both the thicket of trees and from within the mud infested cracks between the stone.
The wall was part of a traditional cottage, long vacated but not emptied. Hence, the man’s recommendation. Since its day as a proper home, it had obviously been used as a shed at one point in time, and may have had some squatters or campers for awhile. Standing inside made me feel like an intruder. Perhaps it was because the salt and condiments didn’t look that old. But the rest was in decay and very damp and mouldy. While it might not have been inviting, it certainly inspired the story cogs to rev up. We had a lot of fun spinning different scenarios and I left the place, somewhat reluctantly, empty handed as it just didn’t seem at all right to take that charming old water pitcher.
Whimspherical 