Verdant slopes stretched out for as far as the eye could see, dotted with lakes and streams and all sorts of natural sparkle. Winds careened through the high perch on which I found myself, lying upside down and kissing the Blarney Stone as some Irish brogue held onto my legs so I didn’t tumble to the ground far below. A quick peck, that’s all I gave, but it was enough. The gift of eloquence had been bestowed.
I stood up, righting my vision and stance, and looked back over the land. Lush and green, it calmed and quieted the most tumultuous heart. My coat flew around me – long, black and flowing, it shrouded and cloaked like a living shadow. I walked down the tiny spiraling staircase etched roughly in stone. Peace and paradise.
A song comes to mind, one that would have done well for that moment so many years ago. Can one insert a song into a memory that has already been made? I’m not sure. We shall attempt it.
