A Frothing Ring of Water

Start: Annascaul

End: Smallish room (with a disproportionately large wardrobe) in Neptune’s Hostel, Killarney, Co. Kerry

This morning found us deviating from the itinerary once again, but unfortunately it was not to add in a cool thing, it was to not-do one of the things I’d been more excited to do: Skellig Michael.  Unfortunately, the only way to get to Skellig Michael is by boat, and the boats leave only once a day- and if the conditions are too dangerous (as they were this morning) you simply do not get to go.  And since we aren’t able to wait around a day or three until the wind and waves calm down, we were just out of luck.  Boo.

We went ahead and drove into Portmagee, anyway, and has ourselves a delightful breakfast at the Bridge Bar before starting out on the Ring of Kerry, a theoretically lovely scenic drive.  Less spectacular in the rain, I must say- but eventually the rain passed, and we found ourselves in Killarney National Park, surrounded by so much gorgeous, fairy-tale scenery that I felt completely mollified over missing out that morning.

K is also for Kick-A

Once we got through the park (amused as how small it is compared to the national parks we’re used to) we were in Killarney, so we checked into our hostel and did a bit of exploring.  First up was the cathedral, which was fine as far as cathedrals go, but had several particularly lovely prayers posted.  One of my favorites was this*:

Slow me down, Lord.  Slow me down!

Ease the pounding of my heart

by the quieting of my mind…

Give me amid the confusion of my day,

the calmness of the everlasting hills.

Break the tensions of my nerves and muscles

with the soothing music of the singing streams

that live in my memory.

Help me know the magical,

restoring power of sleep.

Teach me the art of taking minute vacations,

of slowing down to look at a flower,

to chat with a friend, to pat a dog,

to read a few lines from a  good book.

Remind me each day of the fable

of the hare and the tortoise,

that I may know that the race

is not always to the swift-

that there is more to life

than increasing speed.

Let me look upward

into the branches of the flowering oak

and know that it is great and strong

because it grew slowly and well.

Slow me down, Lord,

and inspire me to send my roots

deep into the soil of life’s enduring values

that I may grow towards the stars

of my great destiny.

The place that had been recommended to us for dinner was actually closed on Sundays, so we wandered a bit more until we wandered into the Silver Fox, which turned out to be quite fortuitous, as they made a lamb stew second only to the one I’d gotten at Shells.  As a result, we stuffed ourselves a bit fuller than we possibly should have, and had to do a great deal of walking to feel normal again.  On our walk we picked up a pot of organic honey and two small bottles of whiskey, so that when we came once more to the hostel we were able to indulge in a couple of sweet hot toddies as we read our respective books.



*(some googling tells me that perhaps the original author is an American poet by the name of Wilfred Arlan Peterson)