IRISH SUN
I miss the Old Country, although I’ve never been. There is a lyrical pride to the Irish, it’s not something you simply are, it’s a part of you just as you are a part of it. Being Irish is an essence that radiates from within.
It goes without saying that I would relish the opportunity to feel the rich soil of Ireland entwined in my roots, but that soil, the wind and temperance, the whole Irish Spirit – it is my roots.
I am, and always will be, a part of that emerald isle.
I was not raised there and I never will have the opportunity to spread my roots in the soil of my motherland, but that makes me no less a part of her.
You often hear talk of the luck of the Irish, and for good reason. Look at me; I’m a perfect example. One day I’m sitting on a shelf under the cold harsh glow of a compact fluorescent, and the next I’m bathed in beauty. There truly is nothing more satisfying than having things fall in your lap just so.
When I think of my brethren, out there in the cold gusty hills of Galway, I know that my life is charmed. I envy them their connection with the earth, but we are all part of the same system.
Now I sit here, my leaves unfurled in an open embrace, my pure white blossoms stretching out for the sweet kiss of the sun. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Well, I suppose there is one thing that could make this better; one thing that could make this just so. A frothy cold pint of Guinness and a nice shot of Jameson would fill me to the brim. I am Irish after all. That’s stuff’s in my roots as much as the poetry and song.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
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