St. Patrick's Day comes but once a year!
Yesterday was a lovely day that began with a mass as Gaeilge (in the Irish language) and a vegetarian Irish breakfast with brown bread, beans, and perfectly seasoned mushrooms. Yes, it's the simple pleasures. I understood nearly half of what my friends were saying in Irish which feels like a major, major accomplishment, but Ireland lost to England in rugby, besmirching the day in what was the opposite of a major accomplishment. However, we bounced back quickly and spirits were high. After the game, I went to the end of the parade. The air was warm and the trees along the route had put out little green buds, bright St. Patrick's Day finery. The sun began to fall and stretched its arms out in longer tendrils between the shadows of tree branches and legs marching. Then I climbed onto the rocks on the hillside of the park and watched the last scragglers and the cleanup crew, and had a burrito delicioso for dinner in tribute to the Batallón de San Patricio. (It's a stretch, I know, but I need to justify my desire for a burrito somehow.)
There are a thousand pictures you could see of pipe bands, pint glasses, and spectators in outrageous, shamrock-themed get ups. I don't know what would make you want to see mine, in particular, so I tried to take photos while keeping in mind that it wouldn't be the subject matter that set them apart, but an unusual perspective, angle or composition. In any case, it was a great day for taking pictures!
watching and waiting:
sunshine and shadow:
Watching from walls and hillsides:
(Okay, so this angle's not so unusual!)
At the end of the day:
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