I am day-dreaming my way back to Ireland.
I hold the vision of stepping through the mist,
And back into the surreal that is real.
That is the wilds of Connemara.
That is the power of Hag’s Head.
That is the “ceol agus craic” of McCarthy’s Pub.
That is the carved rock of Knockroe.
That is the flashing swirl of surf and stone at Bunmahon Bay.
I am conjuring the magic needed to get me there.
I am summoning the Ancestors to guide me.
All day I day-dream of how to get back.
All night, I am already there.