I have read nothing but Irish literature, history, and mythology for the past five months, and enjoyed every word. (Well, almost. The Gaelic, or Irish, words are mystifying. Even when reading to myself, I try to hear them in my mind. Inevitably there are either too many consonants or too many vowels sequentially to even know where to begin. In the rare event that the author tries to help by spelling a word phonetically, I am dumbfounded. How do they get a “w” sound out of “dh”? A “c” followed by an “e” or “i” has a hard “k” sound, as in the Irish word for church, cille (pronounced “kill”). Irish, apparently, is not related to any of the languages I’ve ever studied.) So you can imagine my excitement on my very first introduction to Herself.

Upon our wake-up call at 6:00 on our approach to Dublin, Marcus noted that sunlight was edging over the horizon. I flipped up the window shade and watched the curtain going up on Ireland. The buffeting winds and thunderclouds we had been promised by the captain as we tumbled off into dreamland only a few hours before were only cottony wisps revealing teasing glimpses of fairy villages in the darkness below, twinkling like the proverbial pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. As Ireland rolled over to greet the sun, the darkness became a deep, emerald green. I smiled. Something tells me this is going to be an amazing trip. As the Irish say, “Happy days!”