The Blasket Islands are a group of small islands off the west coast of Ireland, only accessible by boat from the small village of Dingle. The wind lifts the grey mist from their foreheads. But they are finer again, when the winter's storm is there.
They are a fine sight on a day of sunshine. The sea and the rocks and the dark ravines and the mountains of Ireland are out there in front of me, with no mist over them. Would it be any wonder for me to be sad, reader, that saw sport and company in those houses? All the same, I don't fault this lonesome spot, for I don't believe there is a corner in Ireland more beautiful. Cliff grass and nettles are growing round them today. Twelve houses have gone to rack, to my memory, that were at their height in my young days.
I remember strong and brave men and women to be living in the houses that are, my sorrow, ruined now. The long years have vanished and all I can see today are the old ruined houses where people used to live. Would it be any wonder for me to be sad, reader, that saw sport and company in those houses? All the same, I don't fault this lonesome spot, for I d
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