Kings Meadow

The sweet mist from the ocean below sprays against your face, a thin and stunning fog settling around you, encasing you in your own little sanctuary; deprived from the world. The early morning sunrise bleeds into the water as if God himself had cut his wrists and let the beauty bleed into the ocean. The blood spreads further, reaching for you and only you as the Sun is pulled higher into the sky, occasionally hiding behind the looming clouds, teasing. Always teasing. Early morning.

The turmoil of the ocean laps against the wall of rock you now perch yourself upon. The clashing, crashing, and groaning of the ocean against the Cliffs of Moher continue the war between water and earth. Your bare feet dangle over the edge of the Cliffs while rocks push against your bare skin. One push. One small amount of pressure and you could free fall through pure serenity, as if floating on air. Diving into the swirling mass of water, a beautiful sway of art on the surface, beneath a reverie of silence and numbness, seems like a dream that could only end in definate silence that would forever seperate your soul from heaven on earth.

Heaven on earth. Ireland. This place was only described in one word. Breathless. But what is beauty when you observe it everyday ? Does the beauty in itself become more ordinary than perfect ? Will these seas of green ever be seen as beauty to the eye that has beheld them it's whole existence ? Or will that of everyday city life become more beautiful than nature ? Can beauty really be ordinary ? Can the ordinary be the extraordinary ?

What is city life ? The rush of wind caused by a thousand cars as they scramble through everyday life, only driving from location to location. Looming skyscrapers casting dark shadows upon the world, masking the elegance of real architecture. Smog so thick, even the bare heat of the summer makes breathing almost impossible to the strongest of lungs.

The sun has taken it's place in the sky, full and bright without a dark cloud to hide behind. Soft whisps of pure white clouds decorate the sky and the water below. The once angered ocean has calmed, water so blue swimming in it would feel like swimming in the sky. Your world is serene. It is staring into the face of bliss and stunning beauty, and the feeling like heaven is opening it's arms for only you to enjoy that reminds you of that one little word. Breathless.

As you stand from your perch you pull a string from your sweater and release it into the cool sea breeze. You watch as it floats away, dancing in the air; watch as nature turns it over in her sweet hands ripping the man-made string fiber by fiber.

This is the way it is meant to be.

This is peace. How could you have doubted it ?

This is Ireland.

This is home.