Already St. Patty’s Day. The grass is greening, but barely. The corned beef I usually start early in the day has yet to be purchased. And there is certainly no green beer in the house.

I’ll celebrate, then, by looking through photos of the Emerald Isle, searching for the greenest grass, the softest air. Not that you can tell the air is soft by looking at a photograph, but if I recall it was warm enough to remove a layer when I snapped this shot in Connemara National Park.

We were in Galway, the ancestral home of the Concannons, my mother’s people. It’s a beautiful, rocky place, more lovely to visit than to live in, I’m afraid. Then again, I’ve never lived there. Today, I’ll be dreaming that I’m back.