the weather's great.... if you're a duck.

it rains here. all. the. time. especially on the days that i want to go out shooting. the light is flat and boring, and you run the risk of a slow, painful death by drowning in a puddle if you step outside. if the irish are known for their luck it is counterbalanced by the fact that their weather is about as lucky as a bug on a windshield. but there really aren't any bugs here. except the mosquito that took a chunk out of my hand last week.

i drove on the wrong side of the road a couple days ago. er, i meant the not right side of the road... that would be the left. my wee vauxhol (if that's how it's spelled) corsa was just grand. we saw the north coast together, a lough and some castles with my wonderful traveling buddy, Hilary, and only got killed seven times. for some reason it's popular here to use the blasted emergency brake when you stop at a traffic signal. let's just say it's not good craic. and filling up with petrol was even worse craic. but more on that later.

this is the black beast. it's like a prius, i needed one for each foot.

the lump of a mountain here has a name that i can't remember at the moment, but it's pretty significant. st. patrick is believed to have spent his time as a slave on this mountain, shepherding sheep. because that's just about all you can do with sheep. make sure the wolves don't eat them.

this is a view of killyleagh, a small village off of strangford lough. strangford lough is where patrick is believed to have landed upon his return to ireland.

brilliant. just brilliant.

brilliant. it's a common phrase here. almost as common as milk in your tea. and trust me, that's common.

brilliant. it's used in every context imaginable. how's the weather? brilliant. you smacked your head on the car door? brilliant. lightroom can't find your files because you reorganized? brilliant. you finished writing two fifteen-hundred word essays and still have two to go? brilliant. you stood on st. patrick's bones? that's brilliant too.

the whole lightroom can't find your files bit is why this is an imageless post. it's forcing me to use my words. but that's ok since i have had the gift of blarney for a long time.

i've been stepping back in time these last few weeks. i've walked the stones where finn mcgee ran as he chased a drunk old hag across the north shore, crossed a rope bridge from the mainland to a wee island so peaceful that you could hear God's footsteps as he walked up and sat down beside you, i've stood where patrick first preached the gospel so many years ago, been to the same mans grave, sat in a church where God has been worshiped for more than fifteen hundred years. i've listened to wise old men tell stories of the troubles and the hurt they left behind, i've read plays, seen walls that are supposed to have brought peace, cornered politicians with questions about their morality, i've walked streets where a war was waged less than 15 years ago. i've bought plane tickets to barcelona, talked with lewis about christianity (he's got a lot to say), i've found fat face, i've been chauffeured over the backroads by the youngest old man i've ever met. i've eaten the food, seen street performers. i've inhaled enough secondhand smoke to choke a horse, i've drank 47.3 gallons of tea. and i've seen God in a bigger way. and that's what this trip is all about.

i could quote shaw and say that "Ireland, sir, for good or evil, is like no other place under heaven, and no man can touch its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse."

i could quote moorish proverb and say that “He who does not travel does not know the value of men.”

i could quote other famous dead people who had brilliant things to say about travel. but i won't. i'll quote myself and say that this is a tiny world, but it has a whole lot of need for Jesus in every corner of it, whether you choose to see it or not. travel is what forces you to grasp this reality.

it's the story of my life, and it's brilliant.

i came back for it. i lost a piece of my heart here last year and I'm here to get it back. Ireland.

i'm about to lose another piece of my heart. it's already started.

Ireland........

stole a part of me.