On a mist-laden day in May, the clouds descended so low over the Mournes that the familiar peaks surrounding Blue Lough vanished entirely. Only the lough’s pale outline emerged, a tranquil sheet of silver-blue water glimpsed beyond the gorse and tawny fronds of last year’s bracken. The silence of the mountains deepened within the mist; every sound was muted and every colour softened into delicate shades of green. The landscape seemed timeless and contemplative, inviting quiet reflection and reverie. Blue Lough was not fully seen that day; it was sensed, suggested and remembered through drifting vapour, while the air hung heavy beneath the promise of an imminent cloudburst.