Room 1107

Limerick, early morning.

There’s something about waking up in a different city that shifts your senses just slightly out of alignment—in a good way. The coffee tastes unfamiliar, the sheets don’t quite hold your shape, and the light creeps in through unfamiliar angles.

This morning, I stood by the window of Room 1107 for longer than usual. The city wasn’t quite awake yet. The Shannon below was still and silent, a perfect reflection of bridges, glass, and sky. The sun hadn’t cleared the horizon, but it was already painting the edges of the buildings with that low, golden light photographers get far too excited about.

I didn’t go hunting for this image—it was just there. Waiting. The kind of scene that doesn’t ask for a perfect lens or the right exposure—it just asks you to notice. So I did. Quietly. And then I reached for the phone and pressed the shutter.

No deep metaphor. No project in mind. Just a reminder that, every so often, the world arranges itself in a way that feels intentional. And all we have to do is look.