Perhaps it’s this blustery spring weather, or the frequent bouts of rain that we’ve been recieving up and down the coast to remind us that spring arrives like a lion and leaves like a lamb, but for some reason I’ve been dwelling on Ireland recently. Specifically the quaint little village of Lismore, in Southern Ireland, halfway between Cork and Waterford where I was fortunate enough to spend some time this past Fall.
The village of Lismore has two main streets that intersect and from there it’s just a matter of houses and tea shops until you wander to the outskirts of town and are standing in the middle of the countryside. The hills outside of Lismore are open cradling forests, a river called the Blackwater (no joke George R.R. Martin fans), and secret gardens. What really stayed with me were the many winding lanes and twisting back alleys found in nature, that seemed to act like portals on to mysterious worlds. I followed these gateways through the middle of the woods, meandering the various paths until my feet ached and my imagination was sufficiently peaked.
Strolling through these natural doorways, this Tolkien quote came to mind:
“It’s a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”