this is the end, beautiful friend

I salvaged my time in Kilarney with an unreal bikeride through the National Park: lakes with dark yellow sandy beaches and craggy rocks. Forests where the only sound was water dropping from leaves and elf laughter (I was the Lord of the Ring of Kerry.) Mountains of orange, mountains of green -- so dark and thick green you know there are two kinds of lush in Ireland. -- the stuff big picture books on coffee tables are made of -- the ones you wonder how they can make the world look so magical and unworldly and decide it must be airbrushed or edited or something - no? No.

Tonight I'm in Dublin with "old"-friend Dave I worked with this past summer at camp. I fly home to the little island off the west coast of Ireland tomorrow: Christmas-Eve morning. Arrive in Rochester in the evening.

I began this trip with Thoreau -- sensible to end it on the same note.

I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves.

--H.D. Thoreau, Walden

It has all been incredible... but time to move on. First, though, some quality holiday chill with the fam and friends back at home, and lots on the to do list...