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musings

Éire

Ireland is a a seductress. She is charming and clever, rambling streets with hidden delights, songs of solace and solas, of wit and delicate manners, and a pleasing kindness woven of lambswool and an undying hearth.

Babbling brooks and lush green countryside, slippery bog bluffs that toss you thither and lift you up with bracing, unrelenting winds. Hardy cliffs and rocky shores; silky heather and cheeky blush roses.

I won’t get over her, not ever. I’ll dream of Éire all the remainder of my days until the next life where in Wicklow I’ll rest my bones, and in Kerry give way to a sleep eternal.

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About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.

Discussion

2 thoughts on “Éire

  1. This is beautiful! My favourite country to visit as well.

    Posted by Tela | 26 February 2014, 0843 EDT

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

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