As twilight descends over the quiet glens of Tyrone, the waterfall at Drumquin becomes more than just a place of stillness — it becomes a threshold. In this long-exposure fine art photograph, the cascade is rendered as a silken veil between two realms, echoing the ancient Irish belief in thin places, where the veil between this world and the Otherworld grows gossamer-thin.
The moss-clad stones, saturated by centuries of mist, cradle the pool below like keepers of forgotten lore. The water flows with a spectral calm, whispering the songs of the Aos Sí — the fairy folk who, as legend tells, dwell just beyond sight, in lands untouched by time. As the last light of the sun fades into dusk, the air hums with that ancient, sacred tension: the meeting of the mortal and the eternal.
The Veil of Drumquin invites the viewer to linger at the edge of that unseen world — to stand in the hush between day and night, and to feel, if only for a moment, the pulse of Ireland’s mythic heart.
As twilight descends over the quiet glens of Tyrone, the waterfall at Drumquin becomes more than just a place of stillness — it becomes a threshold. In this long-exposure fine art photograph, the cascade is rendered as a silken veil between two realms, echoing the ancient Irish belief in thin places, where the veil between this world and the Otherworld grows gossamer-thin.
The moss-clad stones, saturated by centuries of mist, cradle the pool below like keepers of forgotten lore. The water flows with a spectral calm, whispering the songs of the Aos Sí — the fairy folk who, as legend tells, dwell just beyond sight, in lands untouched by time. As the last light of the sun fades into dusk, the air hums with that ancient, sacred tension: the meeting of the mortal and the eternal.
The Veil of Drumquin invites the viewer to linger at the edge of that unseen world — to stand in the hush between day and night, and to feel, if only for a moment, the pulse of Ireland’s mythic heart.
