Doolin, Ireland

By Christy Collins

May 25, 2010


Category: Uncategorized

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Ireland is a jewellery box: from the emerald dream of the Cliffs of Moher plunging to the sea, to the antique gold of evenings in bars where boys play accordions, flutes and fiddles, while girls sing sweet, sad songs.  Ireland is nostalgia for a place I never knew and I feel sad I cannot stay, or hold somehow: the ruined castles, the fishing villages, the nuns, the sheep, the accents, the heartbreaking coastline, the aching greenness of it all.  Ireland, I guess more than any other country on this trip, is a part of who I am and where I come from, being here feels a little like finding a missing puzzle piece and holding it up to the light to look at it from several angles, like suddenly remembering a fragment of a pleasant dream.


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