This morning as I walked, thoughts of my trip to Ireland last year bubbled up. I remembered a day of riding the Dublin Area Rapid Transit system, DART for short, from one end to the other as grey storm clouds roiled overhead.
 
I rode the train to the northernmost stop, a seaside port named Howth, and wandered the quay and the market there for several hours in mixed light drizzle and heavy rain. Having a bite of the lunch I bought sheltered by a narrow awning, stopping into a pub for a pint and some warmth, listening to and smelling the sound and call of sea breeze. The day was gray punctuated with bright moments: the flash of a smile, a child running to see the seals, seagulls chattering over bread thrown on their behalf. I was, of course, making photographs all the while.  

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I walked back out the quay one last time before heading back to the train. And then I stopped. Right on the quay, along the water, this stair called to me. I must have made twenty or thirty exposures of it. Somewhere in its seamed ruggedness and textures, a different space opened up. In the meter of its steps my eyes heard something different. I left satisfied I’d found what I was looking for in Howth.
 
I ate my last bites of fish sandwich and drank the last of my water as the train carried me back to Dublin. I must get to Howth again.

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