You might have images of gentle slopes, rolling fog when it comes to Ireland, landscape with soft corners and damp charms. But there's drama on my little island too and it creeps up on you. At the end of a narrow penninsula, you hit the Atlantic and find that it has cracked and peeled the land into submission.
And I know nothing about the age of rocks, but when you stand here the ages are beneath your feet. But the cacophonous boom of the sea doesn't let any of that ancient feeling settle, so it swirls about you and you lose your place in time. And all that's left to do is close your eyes and see it in your mind, where you can catch it, put reins on it and wrap some kind of understanding around it, just for a moment until it breaks free from you and is gone again.