Beyond the tail-end of summer, we drove up to Lough Bray in the Wicklow mountains for a swim in the ice-cold water. The weather was just perfect, sitting on the rocks, swinging our feet in the water.
David played his mandolin, Ciarán his guitar. Kevin refused resolutely to get his head wet. Laura and I swam out to the other corner of the lake.
A blind dog felt his way across the boulders. The sun went down behind the mountain and we put our shoes back on.