Saturday, October 10, 2009

A Waking Dream

I am slogging through the muddy bogs of Ireland. Above me, crows circle and caw. I hear the ocean sounds far in the distance and I wonder how I got here. Was it really all this simple? I didn’t need to get on an airplane and fly all this way, set up lodging and transportation, put debt on my credit car. All I needed to do was pick up my pen and let my imagination take me to a spot on the planet that my heart had been dreaming about.

I pull on sucking foot out of the bog and place it on grassy, firm soil, and hoist myself clear. Around me, spreading to the surrounding hills, is green grass and small stone-wall enclosures dotting the landscapes. Small flocks of sheep inhabit these stone pens and sound content as I look beyond them to the clouds building overhead. I think I’m going to need shelter soon, so I begin the trek, mud-caked wellies encasing my feet as I head for a thatch-roofed cottage within sight.

As I approach the garden area, a border-collie type dog rushes to greet me and lick the hand I outstretch to pet her head. From within the doorway comes the aroma of baking bread. As I get closer to that doorway, a middle aged woman appears, dressed simply in a sweater and skirt, with a kerchief tied around her graying hair.

“Have a spot of tea with me?” she asks, gesturing me into the cottage.

The room I enter is small and warm, delightful smells enveloping me, and steam is rising from a kettle on the stove.

I sit down at the table in front of an empty cup and wait.


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