Sloggy, sluggish, snoozy.
The usual air-travel complaints, yet I will never fail
to be amazed that a tin tube (okay, so it's not tin,
but I like the alliteration) can elevate hundreds
of humans into the sky. And remain there,
in the troposphere, for hours on end.
It's 4:43am Seattle time, 12:43pm Irish time.
On a bit of a jag. Need to come down.
A sparrow on the patio is holding a black & orange
striped snail in its beak and banging it repeatedly
on the concrete: lunch.
Jack-the-dog, across the cove, didn't race to greet us
this time. His puppy-crazy days are over, apparently.
He seems to be more interested in his Sunday
If I go to sleep now I'll be awake all this Irish-night-to-come.
What to do? The afternoon looms, a drawn-out yawn.
Topsy-turvy night and day....
Each time I arrive in Carrowholly, I am stunned
by the fact of my being here, and by the absolute
beauty of the countryside.