Hit me, Ireland, one more time!

Sunset at Strandhill on the Western coast of Eire.

Us pretending to relax.

Me being sacrilegious at an ancient burial site.

Same burial site, but I was alone, and thus more truly contemplative. Here people had come to bury and mourn their dead for 5000 years and their grief mingled with mine for a time while I mourned my brother's death. It felt like a relief to have a physical place to release it, while only a lazy herd of cows watched. As we toured this site where people piled rocks to remember their dead, I thought how little human beings have changed. We still place a rock to remember, because it feels vital to do so. Here I remembered my brother on the anniversary of his death 4 yrs ago. I try to remember him. This ancient site helped me that day.

Oozy green: I like it.

Doolin, West coast of Ireland. Looking towards our campsite where we rested two nights, watched World Cup, heard traditional music, and cleaned up after Matt dumped red wine on most of my limited wardrobe.

Fairy in Doolin.

Yep, uh huh.

Ireland posing for a cliche photo.

Pulnaborne--most photographed site inIreland in the Burrenm a totally rocky, lunar-like, barren landscape inIreland. This is the most famous dolmen (rock pile burial site) in the country.

The wind blows so hard and so constant in Ireland that the trees are permanently blown to the side.

Some of that blowing and storming just mentioned.

Ditto.

Wee, colourful Irish villages. They win "tidy town" awards.

The Simpsons....dee dee dee dee...

The classic Irish shot.

Me trying to convince Matt to buy a stack of sheep back's.

"The most beautiful view in all the realm," said the queen's companion. Indeed.