T.

Drove out and about Achill Island today.
Picnic-lunched at the base of the ruins
of a tower where Grace O'Malley had her
stronghold. Took the Atlantic Coast Drive
along blustery cliffs where the road is
nearly wide enough for a single car
and guard rails do not exist. Glorious sun!
Water everywhere, after yesterday's
mind-numbing rain. At the Achill Golf Club
sheep roam the greens, and the clubhouse
is three job shacks side-by-side.
I walked the beach bare-footed at Keem,
and it was only sparsely touristed. Two
young boys came skipping by me in the surf,
singing, 'Silent night, holy shite.'
I love this country.