The Irish music has been blaring yesterday and today, pipes and jigs and ballads, from my laptop, iPod and CD player. I listen and am back in the little pub in Inishmore in the Aran Islands, or in Dingle Town, where the great Steve Cooney showed up to play at the Courthouse Pub.

I’m remembering the stones, the cliffs, the bare hills all green with lambs grazing, the ancient, ruined forts with rainbows all around them.

I’m tasting the brown bread at breakfast, the scones and the fish and chips and the Cadbury’s chocolate, which somehow tastes better over there.

I’m remembering how I felt in Ireland, which was … like I’d come home.