202 words on the shortness of life

Life is short and despite all the troubles and struggles we endure, it is beautiful too.

It’s a rainy Sunday morning here in Ireland. Some blue skies are pushing through the cloud, but the dark clouds heavy with rain are visible in every direction.

As I parked the car just now, I saw a man who reminded me of my uncle Paddy.

Paddy was full of life. He never stopped moving. He was a mechanic and a welder and an all-round tinkerer; he played around with things to make them work if they didn’t work, or move if they didn’t move, and if he could do it he might find someone to buy them.

He built a workshop and eventually he had to work outside the workshop because inside was so full of the stuff he’d been working on.

As this man whose gait, as he fixed his mask to his face, looked so much like my uncle walked past me in the rain, I thought of one of the last times I saw him.

When he was lying in a bed he would never get to leave, one night it rained heavily.

“I would love to be out there,” he said.