On the evening of August 25th my life changed significantly: I boarded a plane from O’Hare Airport to Europe. One-way. Destination: Prague, with a nearly 9 hour layover in Dublin. As you may imagine, I equal parts eager and nervous. As so many of us do, I channeled that energy into something creative. During the flight I wrote this poem:
As the child cries, overseas
We left Chicago’s nameless suburbs at twilight
Fit to chase the dawn
The clouds’ palette dips from ripe orange
and pregnant purple
We glide over sea and air
Suspended in darkness
A journey into and through the night
Finally the morning comes
We race above plains of cotton candy
Yellow, then bleached
White by the morning sun
We descend into day
And I into my new life
I recalled a conversation I had with my tai chi teacher in Kauai, Shanewo, one of the wisest dudes to ever walk on this planet. He told me that I’d make a friend in the airport. I did one better: I made a friend on the plane! Anita. What a gal. I hooked her up with some Rainer Maria Rilke, she gave me a tour of Ireland within the confines of my day-long layover. Amazing.

My curator of the Emerald Isle, Anita.
Anita took me to her superlatively sweet village, Whitglow. Mum picked us up at the airport. Once we departed from cramped Dublin International, the island opened up and I knew I needed to be there. In Whitglow County is the achingly beautiful Glendalough, the Glen of Two Lakes. I always had the feeling that glens are awesome. That intuition was confirmed.

Welcome to Ireland! What color comes to mind?

A glen! A lake! Terrific!

A poignantly beautiful Celtic graveyard.
I’m only 12.5% Irish, but that bit sprung up to the front in my time on the isle. They call hiking “hill-walking,” which is as pragmatic as it is awesome. Oh, Ireland, I must return to you.
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