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Walking back across Aran Mór after a long, windswept day photographing the spectacular cliffs and geological formations, I came across this still life in an abandoned cottage. There is something about seeing many layers of paint peeling from a wall, the years of care unravelling, that speaks of fragility of our lives. Things we hold dear, cling to; things we consider secure, immutable - it all passes. Last week I looked around and noticed half my life had passed.