Beautiful wild Irish cliffs.
We stood on the edges, taking turns holding the other's hand for balance, feeling our stomachs turning over and over. gulls wheeled nearer the sea, kee kee - ing above the pounding swell.
buskers along the way serenaded the walkers: old, young, with crutches, with babies in slings, with wheelchairs, with prams, with holding hands.
purple sprays of heather and thistle clung to the windy face, still pretty after constant wind-beating.
it was wonderful.
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Trust you to find a place called the Cliffs of Mohair...
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