The soft ditches and hedgerows give way     as you drive west. Until you reach Connemara where plots of land are divided by improbable walls that defy the laws of gravity. They have no foundations, nor mortar     to hold them together yet have stood for thousands of years     and will stand for thousands more. They make for good neighbours.     Keep one man’s sheep from another man’s field. From the air they look like worn-down gums from which the teeth were extracted eons ago. Rain hammers them with nails. Wind scoops its fingers into the gaps attempting to…