Missing Ireland


What does Ireland mean to me?

 

Family without blood and a definite sense of belonging.

 

 

This comes from being in a place where the surroundings call out to me. Purple wild mountains, tamed green fields, dark forests and noisy rivers. A ruin around every bend. Clear sharp sunny days where icy wind braces you as it sweeps over cliffs. Grey days AKA ‘Layers of misery’ that force you inside in front of a fire with SO MANY CUPS OF TEA and hours of chat. Towns with colourful houses siting on the very edge of the road and a pub on every corner. Roads where the view is blocked by tall hedges and trees that meet over your head.

 

It comes from being amongst people who pull me back into their family as though I had just been away for the weekend. Sunday picnics in the rain and shine, pottery lessons on a Tuesday that wouldn’t be complete without spider tea and cake. Hikes every other day that are more an excuse for long chats about the day than the exercise. Neighbors who blur the lines between my house and yours. Odd jobs shared that halve the work. Dog walking and shed building. Spontaneous day trips to the sea or city. Movies and chocolate and crisps. More cups of tea. A spare room that is just my size. New friends who read your tarot and tell you stories about silence. A greeting on the street from an old familiar face. And in the middle of it all is me trying to show my appreciation in the best way I know, feeding people.

 

 

Ireland, why wouldn’t you?

 
                                  

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