Bodhrán . . .
All I know is what the words know, and dead things, and that makes a handsome little sum, with a beginning and a middle and an end, as in the well-built phrase and the long sonata of the dead.”
I have carried this bodhrán all over Western Ireland for different cameo appearances in my photography but I believe this is the first of the series. Laced with cobwebs, sitting silently in the conservatory of the late David A. Lang's beloved Tully, the drum discovered me one early morning and I carried it out into the Forestry behind the farmhouse. Gradually the light deepened among the whitethorn and hazelnut and the shadows became one. It is impossible to imagine these trees whispering anything but soft syllables as they and the drum’s master have since passed...but the music remains.
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