Because flowers they don’t grow, with only the good and sunny days for its only when it rains…
Spotify Que, because I may be careless but at least I'm consistent:
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Bobbing my head to the beat of my spotify que as the tour bus glides through the Irish countryside, I can barely hear the soft stomping of the large windshield wipers in front of my row. I used to love that sound as a kid. Something about rain and the way it drums your soul into its own, unique, train of thought--it's comforting. The green hills crumple and fold in laundry basket heaps across the land as we journey for as far as I can possibly see. The sweet Bailey’s rain reflects blue and purple hues across the untamed grass and we scamper past in our little coach.
"Ooookay, we are now outside Galway city and entering Connemara National Park, from which we’ll make our way to Kylemore Abbey for the day--I’ll stop in a wee bit to let you lads and ladies out for a cuppa and bathroom break…”
The sweet elder driver charms in his rich accent.
Shit.
I don’t think this is the Cliffs of Moher bus.
It has to be! The tour company only had two day trip groups in the Galway station this morning, there’s no way I got on the wrong bus. The sign in front clearly said: Cliffs of Moher Partial Day, and the other: Connemara Full Day for Retirement Group… I tore my left earbud out of my ear and swiveled around to the (now startled) elderly couple behind me. I inquire as casually as I can muster as to which tour this was, and they chuckle, responding: “Connemara! It’s so nice to be in the country for the day.” Well...definitely the wrong bus.
I survey the small community filling the coach behind me, and the (now) obvious average age being triple my own confirms my last few suspicions. One day I’m beginning my college study abroad adventure, the next I’m sharing sips of Irish Coffee with my new retirement home company. Maybe this is why my friends call me an “old soul”--I certainly found myself exactly where I needed to be today.
Hustling my fallen earbud back into place, I take a breath. Think. Look Around. The gloom of the day is a chill around the warm nest of a bus, and my company softly banters in the back--smiles and sweet laughing tones murmur just over the engine rumble. Okay, I can do this. I lean my cheek against the foggy, cool window bringing a sudden pink to the tip of my nose, and dive my green eyes into the even greener outside. Cotton-ball sheep dot the hills, braving the rain and grazing unphased. Little thatched cottages pass by; hobbit holes nestled into hillsides and patches of trees. The warm, red-painted doors contrast with the cool outside palate in an autumnal smile sort of way. Even the violet countryside flowers flow with the sharp breeze, bending and fluttering with grace. So should I--the day is good.
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