Vivaldi reflections: four seasons

It’s no secret that Ireland’s weather is wet. Locals joke that there is one season year-round—rain. And from my few months here, I don't think it's that much of a joke. In fact, the other day in Malahide was so bi-polar, we were running for cover from hail a mere ten minutes after removing our coats from being too warm. Colorado has the same unpredictability about it—snowing in the morning and shining bright and sunny by the end of the day. So in a way, I feel very at home with four seasons in one day.

While I’m looking forward to May flowers, I’ve always appreciated the sense that by the time warm weather rolls around (in Chicago, a mere 90 day period), that we’ve somewhat earned the right to enjoy it by suffering through crap weather. Don’t get me wrong, I love beaches and Vitamin D as much as my fair-skinned complexion allows me, but if I always lived in weather like that, I wouldn’t fully know the euphoria in feeling the sun on your cheeks for the first time all year. (Or the the humidity sticking to your back that comes with it).

I started watching (yet another) Netflix show that takes place in California where the characters are blissfully biking everywhere in casual shorts and NO JACKETS and while that all seems so dreamy, So-Cal—there’s a few things that these “one-weather” places will never have...

The moment after a rainfall where you first smell spring. Maybe you’ve just stepped out the door and realize you’re actually wearing one too many layers instead of not enough but you keep walking anyway to remember what it feels like to sweat.

As the sun begins setting later, restaurant patios & terraces remain open longer. The happy hour swarms of people are happier, more victorious than before—the weather just as much a reward as the cocktail in front of them. 

Albeit a hesitant kind, those first weeks provide hope, a literal light at the end of a clouded and precipitation-ridden tunnel. 

I’m talkin bout the weather, sure. But it’s not for lack of something to say.

The Howth Prawn fest was one such day where the bliss of the sun was blinding and seals waving at us from the harbor were a the perfect backdrop to digging into some fresh prawns. 

My housemate showing me round her hometown, Kilkenny. I told her this is what I pictured most of Ireland to be like—rolling green hills and sheep in sight. She patiently waited as I marveled and photographed the way the sun was hitting various cozy niches throughout the big small town.

Malahide Castle & storm rolling into Malahide on a random Wednesday off work. We stopped the beach photoshoot in just enough time to find a place for a pint.