Lucky

The home we had to stop and photograph when we passed it on the road, because we both immediately recognized it as one built for us... if only we lived in Ireland.


No wonder tales of faeries and mythical beings of Ireland persist into the rational 21st century: Ireland is truly a place of magic. I know, I know... other people's vacations: "God, I hope there's no slideshow!" Don't worry, there's not. If you're a "friend" on Facebook, the photos are in 2 albums there you can browse if you wish, and I completely understand if you don't.

I could tell you it was a wonderful trip, for it was. I could tell you we had a wonderful time, for we did. I could show you the wonderful photos, for I have many.

But it all seems so criminally inadequate.

There are no words or pictures to truly capture the experience of being there. Two glorious, fanciful weeks immersed in history, folklore, natural wonders, charming people and pints of Guinness. How trite it sounds, but this trip affected me profoundly. We visited the village where generations ago, my grandfather's ancestors may have lived, worked, prayed, and died. We walked along coastlines where for literally thousands of years the ocean has battered the stone in its relentless rhythms, occasionally and sometimes frequently catching a boat or ship in its fury. In turns, we were wind-whipped and misted, then sun-kissed and colored by rainbows. The music and dance for which the Irish are renown is easy to understand, having been there, for the island itself fairly bursts forth in rhythmic, melodic sound. You hear it, feel it pulsing through you anytime you stand for a moment and listen.

I'm home now, and re-entering a life I love, but Ireland lingers. I can't quite articulate it yet, but something is different. Something in me, in a good way.