…it was a while in the making, but i was finally aboard the boat that would send me to the vast red ireland. i entered the country as i entered the world: surveying, absorbing everything. only this time i had what was left of a brain abused in mindless shenanigans throughout the forty and two years past. there was, as far as i knew, purpose to this venture. i was here to visit a museum, an estate, rather. i had visited the hearst castle in my youth, and i’ll preface you now to get that image out of your head. a behemoth, yet cozy, mansion this turned out to be, with all sorts of worldly furnishings. we were walking through this house and every piece was used not for decor or as an exhibit, but for living. i wasn’t alone in exploring. my girlfriend’s uncle accompanied me, who i shared the bond with since first hearing of this place. i was, however, alone inside, til i came across a man with a scruffy, peppered beard about yay in length. he was wearing a cowboy hat and an intriguing demeanor. i said hello, quietly, feeling nervous for no apparent reason. he returned the salutation, but held me where i stood. he was the owner of the property on which i was a voyeur. a humble man, in both the way he spoke and the way he stared. the skin covering his bones had seen some sun, after all, it was the redness of “our” irish sun that attracted him to this place, he later went on explaining. soon thereafter, the mood turned grim as he went on about the abduction of his son, which caused him and his wife (who, out of the corner of my eyes noticed, was descending one of the staircases) much, obvious grief. i opened my mouth to utter if there was “anything i can do?” but he quickly asked me to walk with him instead. they walked me to the master bedroom. there were no arts, no glamour here. only a bed, in the dead center of the room, made of wood so heavy, you can see the floor struggling to stay put. there was also a tall, white door, surrounded by even whiter windows, lots of them. as they proceeded to walk me through, a grand pool stood in what we, in our country, called ‘backyard’. cascading it was a plateau of rocks, which had a stream of steady water going upwards from the pool. it was a sight to wonder, so i took a deep breath, blinked my eyes closed loudly, and appeared out in front of the house. i didn’t remember being alone in a desert, in fact, i was certain there were other houses close by, but i didn’t make much of it when i saw my partner, inconspicuously crawl back into the scene. the wife looked as to speak, only before clearing her throat…she was a very beautiful woman, her short fair-hair the symbol of dignified style. i had noticed this about her before, only now it was beginning to take effect on me. her voice was soft and nimble, yet she was fierce like a lion. she pointed to the sky where an eagle was soaring, patrolling the great canvas above. just as she whistled one time, a dog, part pit-bull, part something else (i was never very good with dog types), began sprinting toward where the bird was making its way down. as the eagle was low enough, the dog jumped on its back and they took off together into what had blossomed to a dark, white, half-moon…away from all of us. it was quite nice out. sunny, warm, and not hot. my eyes finally opened from the blink earlier. i was twenty minutes late.
