My heart is a untouched path above the sea in Ireland
Lucky enough to spend a month in Ireland, I have wandered its bogs, crossed fields of gorse and bog cotton, counted lapwings, sheep, and magpies, paid homage to foxglove and fuchsia. Beyond the raw physical beauty of this country, I dream the sound of fiddles, tin whistles, colors of clothes flapping on a line in near ceaseless wind, and snippets of conversation shared in pubs, across a dining room table, in the back of Kenny’s bookshop, or on a mountain path. Each time I return, I discover. This time it was the tenuous give of walking on bogs, temperamental weather that shook shaggy clouds until whiteness spilled into clear and the path softened, remembering my footprints; the unparalleled joy of warmth and sun, now edging into its third day–unprecedented for this cool and misty place. There are no snakes, predatory animals, poison ivy, hurricanes, or tornados, yet wildness lives in the vast expanse of undeveloped coastal and mountain territory. Sometimes I’d see a single stone cottage with a red door, precipitously perched atop a steep hill, sheep grazing on the incline. I’d wonder who lived there and if it was lonely or liberating to look out, seeing nothing but the sea and mountain paths. Would I be courageous enough to define my day by what the sky and ocean had to tell me? I will return to the questioning which is the process of translating this geography, its mossy outcroppings, and the people who invite me in, again and again.
Literary Imaginings by Lisa C. Taylor 
I’ve never seen Ireland, with all of its lonesome beauties, summed up so perfectly in a paragraph. The tenuous step, the roads lined in profusions of foxglove…you’re choking me up. Thanks for bringing everything back. I look forward to reading more from your time across the sea.
Ah, you must get there!
Hoping to return next May! A perfect graduation gift for Matt.