tunes

The past few days I've been dancing and humming to all sorts of tunes. The tune of the Blasket Islands across the white speckled waters on the western coast of Ireland. The tunes of the dynamic personalities manifested in Joey the Irish bus driving poet and Sherah the middle-aged, boisterous, stout, redheaded psychologist from North Carolina. The tune of rain on my face from a top the battlements of Blarney Castle. I swum in the Atlantic with Eric the quasi-agnostic Swede. The waves that took us under were just a stones throw from the hillside where the first scene from Far and Away was filmed. In Killarney I caught one final set of Irish traditional music in the pub with the fire place, and I found a book of Seamus Heaney's poetry to flip through in Adare's small town library.
Dublin welcomed me back for the night.
Tomorrow - sabbath in People's Market between Sandy Cove and that port that sounds like Dunleery, but is spelled something like Dun Laoghaire.
Monday I look to the hills..