Magic in the moss of Sligo
My Weekend in Sligo went by so quickly, I still have whiplash.
Pulling up to a massive crowd on Grafton Street reinforced Sligo’s sheep to person ratio in my mind. The countryside is absolutely breath taking. As I admire the rushing dark beer colored waters of the Garavogue River, I expected to see a fairy taking a dip or a leprechaun hiding his pot of gold. W.B Yeats once wrote,
“But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious and beautiful;
Amongst what rushes will they build
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find that they have flown away?”
It is easy to see how such a glorified poet- amongst the many things he was- gathered his inspiration from the scenery of Sligo. Daisy’s and Buttercup flowers must have been spread via pixie dust, even amongst litter off the river’s coast, there were no flowers lacking. When I lay in the foliage I could easily slip into a deep sleep. A thick layer of moss is hidden underneath the delicate blossoms. I cannot help but wonder which destination exactly put this idea into my mind. Perhaps it was the medieval Abbey with its bright green grass and archaic stone build. One doesn’t often see the same striking contrast between grey and green such as you can see in the town of Sligo. Kings tombs lay within the magnificent structure. I think in the story of Hansel and Gretel the children are fools for going into the candy house in the middle of the woods but if I were Gretel and the candy house resembled the Abbey instead, I would probably be a witch’s dinner. I had to resist the urge to camp out for the night in its courtyard with the cozy grass and not to mention my hopes for a chance encounter with fairy dust.
Little wonders reside throughout the countryside of Sligo and within the town itself. St. Johns Church is another wonder for your eyes to behold. We wondered into the church’s court yard and discovered chickens and flowers galore! A handsome smiling man, the care taker of the yard, suggested we attend the Sunday mass at 11 am. Mass in Ireland would be an experience for sure. I wish I journeyed inside the church or could at least honor the nice man’s invitation. I was however captivated with the vegetable garden and plump hens the man tended too. The stones of the church were aged in the way most Irish stone was.
The grey and green contrast continues to seize my imagination. This look is exclusive to Ireland. Tours in Florence and Rome left me feeling as if I would be more than okay with never seeing another church or fresco again. Ireland’s architecture hoodwinks me into a hunger for more. Nothing else in the world is like the Irish Country side.
“The fascination of what’s difficult
Has drain the sap of my veins, and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content
Out of my Heart” (W.B Yeats)