Ireland is a dream, a glowing green celebration, a place of shifting light where shadows of knights can be seen roaming through the fog.
The Guinness is foamy and dark and suspiciously looks like the River Liffey. Poems float through the air and music is everywhere.
Mist hovers through the countryside, contributing to the dream. When the mist clears, ancient castles appear. Some castles have been restored, but I love the ones that haven’t been touched. Doors and walls may be missing or crumbling. Birds fly through open windows and nest in the corners. It’s easier to imagine the past in a place like this, a place that has surrendered itself to time.
From the ancient castles, the countryside still looks as it did when kings and queens ruled the lands. Green fields stretch toward the darker trees of a forest’s edge. The rumble of galloping horses can be felt. Fog and magic swirl through the air, bringing shadows of the past back home. They stoop over a stone fireplace, tending a fire so that a whiff of wood smoke is inhaled hundreds of years later. They harvest the fields that have grown into a tangle. Their laughter still sings through cracks in castle walls.
On St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll be dreaming of Ireland.
How will you celebrate St. Patrick’s Day this year?
Sheila Hurst 