Green Fields
I had a kind of epiphany tonight. I was re-visiting an old friend (re-reading a book for the umpteenth time) set in Ireland. And, as always, I was yearning to pick up and drop myself into the story. To live in that lovely little town in the middle of nowhere, with a community full of people who know each other, at least by sight. To drive the narrow, winding roads, and sometimes walk or bike along them. To head down to the pub in the evening knowing that half the town would be there, including many of my friends, and spend the night having a drink or two, talking, singing, and maybe dancing. To actually KNOW my neighbors, and perhaps even be a part of the community, something I don't know if I've ever been.
And it suddenly hit me, that the reason I like the area just west of Albany so much is because it reminds me of Ireland. I spent 3 1/2 months in Ireland in college thanks to the study abroad program, and it felt like coming Home. And the area between Albany and Berne reminds me of it - narrow roads that wind through the hills and fields, and occasionally take this unexpected sharp turn to go around something nature put in its path. Wide, open fields, and then a pocket of houses, or a thick wood that suddenly opens to fields again.
It's like this little slice of Ireland, just a few hours away from me.
Ah, gods. Now I feel homesick.
And it suddenly hit me, that the reason I like the area just west of Albany so much is because it reminds me of Ireland. I spent 3 1/2 months in Ireland in college thanks to the study abroad program, and it felt like coming Home. And the area between Albany and Berne reminds me of it - narrow roads that wind through the hills and fields, and occasionally take this unexpected sharp turn to go around something nature put in its path. Wide, open fields, and then a pocket of houses, or a thick wood that suddenly opens to fields again.
It's like this little slice of Ireland, just a few hours away from me.
Ah, gods. Now I feel homesick.