A walk at home in Galway

This post is also available in: polski (Polish)

On the following Sunday in February, birds chirp over the city. Although I don’t see them at all because I walk a shortcut through the bus station. People spill out into Eyre Square. And I’m finally wearing a denim jacket, this one lined with fur.

The River Corrib rushes towards the ocean so fast that I feel dizzy from the foaming waves as I pass it on Wolfe Tone Bridge. Multi-colored ribbons on the metal railing dance and recall those who died in the navy blue vastness.

Photo from Rachel Garvey’s article about ribbons as memories of the tragedy
in Independent Students News.

At the same moment, I pass by Galwegians of various cultures.
The wind blows almost constantly in our living space. And the rain drips down the walls of the rented houses. So it’s worth sitting down for lunch in a warm cafe to discover peanut broth with tofu and vegetables.


Sometimes my ever-moving house has a pink roof and an elevation drawn with a thin line by a random artist. In this connection, you can hear the dog and the giggle of city that is drying out after a shower. In the morning when I open the window, I see a fox face to face and I start talking to him. There’s always some busker in sneakers playing a banjo tune to cheer you up.

P.S. I shouldn’t be smiling like that in this photo because the bedroom wall is soaking through from the daily rain, truly. I wonder what I can do about it when this space is rented. Maybe, you could send me advice?

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