I have always been amazed at how such a small country could produce so many noted writers: George Bernard Shaw, William Butler Yeats, James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, and Sean O’Casey, for example. After motoring through the gorgeous green countryside and learning about the hardships the Irish people have endured over the centuries, the inspiration to wax poetic (Yeats) or write ironic prose (Jonathan Swift) became obvious.
For I would ride with you upon the wind
Run on the top of the disheveled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
On the brighter side, the countryside is green and gorgeous, peppered with sheep and small, well-tended farms. Flowers and trees thrive in the rainy climate, and every farm seems to have a garden. The whole of it creates a picture perfect landscape.
In Ireland to abide.
We learned about Guinness,
And soon it was in us
For a rollikin’, cracky ride.”
What tripe compared to the Irish writers, but fun. J