Western Ireland
Western Ireland is a place of ghosts and green fields, fairies and fair skies, wild waves, wild shores, and ancient tales of heroes, witches and the deep magic that infuses their land and sea. For the past three days we have ridden these waves, felt something of their strength and magic, and wondered about the watery world beneath us, just as the storytellers did long ago. These are the seas that Saint Brendan rode on his great voyage to the west; these are the green swells and foaming breakers that protect Skellig Michael, providing other Celtic monks their long sought solitude. And, it is entirely possible, this cold ocean is one of the wellsprings of Ireland’s ancient magic.
Like all the fairy world, the glories of the sea are well concealed. Who would guess that hidden below the dark waves lays an enchanted realm of weird wonders and glorious beauty. Here we can find jewel anemones in heaps like a dragon’s hoard and watch crabs waving scarlet heraldic banners of algae. Nearby are sea slugs decked out in the bright colors of court jesters and, just at the edge of our sight, the watchful, waiting seals. Are they Selkies? Will they change their form and follow us when we return to the realm of air and light? Are they sitting among us in the lounge while we enjoy the images of their strange and lovely world?
If you are lucky enough to meet such a visitor, offer them a pint or a dram and harken to their stories, but beware of invitations; the unwary have vanished here, lost forever in Ireland’s magic.
Western Ireland is a place of ghosts and green fields, fairies and fair skies, wild waves, wild shores, and ancient tales of heroes, witches and the deep magic that infuses their land and sea. For the past three days we have ridden these waves, felt something of their strength and magic, and wondered about the watery world beneath us, just as the storytellers did long ago. These are the seas that Saint Brendan rode on his great voyage to the west; these are the green swells and foaming breakers that protect Skellig Michael, providing other Celtic monks their long sought solitude. And, it is entirely possible, this cold ocean is one of the wellsprings of Ireland’s ancient magic.
Like all the fairy world, the glories of the sea are well concealed. Who would guess that hidden below the dark waves lays an enchanted realm of weird wonders and glorious beauty. Here we can find jewel anemones in heaps like a dragon’s hoard and watch crabs waving scarlet heraldic banners of algae. Nearby are sea slugs decked out in the bright colors of court jesters and, just at the edge of our sight, the watchful, waiting seals. Are they Selkies? Will they change their form and follow us when we return to the realm of air and light? Are they sitting among us in the lounge while we enjoy the images of their strange and lovely world?
If you are lucky enough to meet such a visitor, offer them a pint or a dram and harken to their stories, but beware of invitations; the unwary have vanished here, lost forever in Ireland’s magic.
