Cabra West

On rare simple sunny days I have no better destination than my Mam’s back garden, teeming with shrubs & plants from Enniskerry, a garden shed still stands proud for my dads old toolboxes and brushes.
Theres an army of knomes and those useless solar lamps, windmills and watering cans, the noisy neighbours next door with their Liverpool FC doorbell are strangely quiet, the dogs inside asleep in this heavy heat.

But the Chicken dinners on and the blue sky is momentarily covered by baby white clouds, retired men in the distance are cutting the grass. And a bumble bee just asked me for some spare change and a cigarette. The thousands of photos and family memories are floating on the big trees breeze, not all gone with the marching of time. Viva Cabra West.

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