Not a lot to say about it, other than I wish I were there. In Ireland. Going round the Ring of Kerry, perhaps, among other stops and stays. Wandering amongst this and that, especially to see the Skellig Islands once more. Where I want me dust to go someday. Somewhere close to Tír na nÓg, to be sure. Which, in times long gone, was right around the corner, I’m told. Though some bards say the blessed isles are to the west of the Cliffs of Moher.
Should go to the places I missed out on, too, like Yeats Country. County Sligo, Ben Bulben and the like. Will have to be much more careful driving this time, though. Remembering which side of the car I’m on, and which side of the road. Can be tricky, ya know. Strange things can happen with the gear shifts, and ancient stone walls, too. Rental companies may not like the results.
So, of course, there are countless songs that would fit today, too many to mention. It depends largely on one’s mood, I suppose. Is it rowdy, you’re feeling? Then the Dropkick Murphy’s are good craic. Or are you pining for your past, those salad days? Then Van Morrison’s yer man, with his brown eyed girl. But this one was on my mind recently, like the two Eileens conjured by the old song:
“Come on Eileen”
Ir was a joy to be young centuries ago, and to encounter, seemingly without trying, acushla after acushla, pulse of me heart.
And on that note, merry readers, Sláinte! Lá Fhéile Pádraig sona duit! And the next round’s on me . . .