Coming Home

An ode to Ireland

I’ve longed for your kiss

for so long

that I had almost forgotten

the promise of your life-giving pulse.

When we finally met

I moved slowly

with curiosity and gradually

moved into your green field of generosity.

You greeted me with hills of buttercups

and the whispers of the fed

and contented dead. 

It was a joy and a relief.

At every turn the sacred

was alive and well,

even if history was not.

The pleasures simple.

I came home to where

the land speaks 

and the stones are home

and worth fighting for.

And when I sought out Her presence

She was there.

Deep in the earth, “buried.”

Giving blessings beyond the surface world.

The wells and mounds

an open invitation.

No offerings needed for what is whole.

I bow to your mysterious feet.