Rising up out of the Atlantic Ocean like a defiant challenge to the ever flowing power of the sea are the Cliff of Moher. Far away across the horizon they stand like stone giants, guarding the Emerald Island. Clouds roll in from the sea, carried on the back of the West Wind. As they sail across the sky they hide the sun, permitting the cliffs only the occassional respite in the sun's rays.
You can hear the waves crashing on the rocks hundreds of feet below and its so powerful and so peaceful sitting on top of the edge of Europe gazing out at the horizon and to the West.
Somewhere among the visitors to that enchanting place, someone is playing a tin whistle, and the music rises and flies like fairies on the wind. Everywhere you go in Ireland there is music, in the people and in the places. It truly is the Land of Song.
When Carrie and I first talked about our trip, I told her I wanted to go some place I could be ispired. We found it in Ireland. I could sit there for hours just listening to the wind and the whistle and the waves; watching the sky and the sea and the light; and writing ... There is beauty all around this world of ours. It is there, a gift for us to take and cherish. If we but open our eyes we can see it, that great gift, and if we open our hearts we will feel it. Truly "all things denote there is a God," especially Ireland.