So today I get out earlier and swoop into the Glen immediately bumping into M the dancer on the bridges with Corey, we pick each other up and talk and walk, M pauses often and our walk is a series of movements without momentum, we catch up on a week of meetings and interactions, stopping in the place of the moment, the O’Brien patch, configuring the house, the well, the orchard, the back garden, the front, we waltz. Plotting the elements from photos and Gerard O’Brien’s stories, as well as from N’s research drawing it all together, like the fence posts standing still, lined up in disguise among the trees. M knew one of the men who had bulldozed the house, I bring up the singer of scales on the ridge and M and teases me about my fairy fancies, we both love Gleann na Puca.We pull away from the place moving west we come across N, all in blue, he’d been on the ridge and spotted us as you do from on high. After leaving M and Corey I double back through the buddleia and take the lower path today without hesitation, happy to pick up the pace and stay in the quiet zone, The river glides west reflecting the dead trees and keeping the live ones in water. I love the tall trees here with their ivy coats the way they lean into one another. I enter the gothic zone, it’s lit up like a Cezanne, sinuous, vigorous, alive and interactive with tree dramas. I try to imagine the orchard here, finding myself on the outside of the perimeter fence posts looking down. There has been other activity here, placements and careful balancings of things.