Once again

Evening in Ireland on my third day here. I flew from New York on the solstice, but, looking out the window just in front of my desk, I could be hard pressed to say which solstice. Outside the wind is strong and the rain blows down. Late this afternoon Damien, the latest of Esther’s handypersons, delivered a small load of firewood onto my front porch. Now some of it is burning in the wood stove, helping to take the chill off. The chicken roasting in the tiny kitchen is also warming this small house; later I will turn on the heater in the bedroom. This afternoon the dashboard on my rented Opel Astra gave the outside temperature as 11°C; now it must be at least a couple of degrees colder, the equivalent of a winter day in California.

Still, the little house is cozy. Celtic fiddle music plays on the radio; at the rare moments of commentary on the station all of the words are in Irish. The chicken is free-range, raised in Tullamore; the potatoes I will eat with it come from the O’Sullivan’s organic farm just up the road, and the broccoli, not local at this time of year, is nonetheless organic and fresh. The weather hasn’t deterred the evening birds from singing from their perches in the oak tree just outside the door. In front of me the diamond panes of glass are steamed over from the fire and the oven. The window panes match the two paned windows in my bedroom. Later I will close the wooden shutters on those windows to attempt to shut out the 4am dawn. Instead of a blog I should be writing a tale about the fairies, the scene is that romantic. I am filled with an extraordinary sense of contentment. Here again at last.