Beauty's Promise

Sunshine

drops behind 

bits of blue
 fragments
splitting

rain's grey
wide

open with apricot
mixtures of pink and gold.

One last touche

pierces prisms

straight through 

leftover rain drops 

whose colors 

wink flirtatiously
 at the tip of each 

pine needle. 

I imagine

John O'Donohue's

Conamara 

on the western

shores of Ireland 

luring artists with

pinkish gold light

turning off and on 

each day ~

 just

like

this.

He makes me
long to be there

instead of here ~
until I see the rainbow
 canopy covering
my neighborhood ~

here
not
there.

Ireland and the Pacific Northwest have much in common. Rain, ocean, green, and nicknames with Emerald in them. The green can become almost heavy, overwhelming, and claustrophobic at times. It is just too much with the unrelenting rain. But, when I'm gone from here, I miss the moisture and the greenery. 

Ireland's green  is a bit different because they are missing our forested acres of evergreens. Their fields are broken up with rock walls. It is a surreal green all the same, the sort that almost hurts your eyes. The rain softens the neon of it ~ as does the golden pink light. 

Once in a while, we get that same light. It feels magical. It can't be captured, only experienced. Tonight was such a night. Anyone and anything is lovely in such complimentary light. Pausing to be drenched with it is the only response. 

I have finished savoring John O'Donohue's Beauty and Anam Cara. There were parts that made me think he endorsed Marxists and Druids. [Smiling] It seemed like he believed that we are our own source, like a car putting gas in itself. But on the whole, I loved his whispy, mystical, Celtic way. I think he is bringing much pleasure to all of heaven. He didn't speak 'the lingo' which made me think creatively.

He also made me want to sell everything and move to the West Coast of Ireland! I think we'll stay here and perhaps learn Gaelic instead?