If I was in Ireland right now, I’d eat salmon for breakfast and mussels for dinner. I’d boat out to the Skelligs and damp with sea spray, I’d climb rocky steps to the top to spend the day watching puffins on the grass and Terns in the sky. I’d walk red soil paths lined with Fuchsia and visit stone circles on the coast at 10 p.m. in the soft light of a summertime solstice afternoon if I was only in Ireland.
The Holy Roman Emperor, Henry III, had a grandson who had a granddaughter who lived in Nicosia, Marie Bourbon. The names flash like starlight over the centuries, like birdsongs, early morning calls to awaken us.These old folks with stain glass windows in their honor, they are our genetic ancestors. We are them. We could not be here but for their prayers and terror. The mongols begat us. Whether through rape or family politics, we now inhabit this green and wet orb because of them. We are the survivors of plagues and war, illicit love affairs and pawns of power gained. We have sunlight in our hands to do great things, across this fine, bevelled plain.
Lorna the Librarian 