A Look that Makes Simplicity a Grace
I think that Bleck well knows that I wince at the thought of any lasting mountain intrusion. Windmills, bridges, roads, steps, masts and the like tarnish perfect wilderness. Any easing of access, in particular, lowers the threshold of protection. The ideal for which we ought to strive is the unspoilt and unregulated. I have always been a little nervous about the proximity of both the Wicklow and Mourne ranges to large centres of population. Disneyfication is a real danger . The Mournes suffer from a dainty footprint, and seem peculiarly well groomed. AONB yes...but picture perfect, and you constantly bump into good folk wearing shiny gear. And the walls...walls no bigger than the Lilliputian threads that held Gulliver down. Even giants can be tamed. I dont wish to offend Bleck, Harry Goodman or any the others who love and honour the Mournes. But to me they are already under siege. Jonson's poem says it all:
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th' adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.