A Good Day.

The same music sounds different here. It lifts my step a little bit higher and causes me to notice brighter lights that illuminate small shop windows while casting strange shadows upon the river below. The language spoken here is slower, but the street life pace is quicker than I am used to. St. Patrick’s Street is bustling with shoppers and sidewalk musicians, and everything is pushed far too close together. I feel that I am always in the way of locals, and the apologies I offer are endless. Still, the Irish seem to be a patient breed.
I cannot look away from the young couple; the girl pressed hard against the bus stop and the eager boy passionately kissing her neck. They don’t seem to have a care in the world. How can one get used to the unforgiving traffic and fresh bloody meat displayed in the window of butcher shops? I am unable to read the clouds here, but whether rain or shine, every city door is bold and bright, beckoning visitors to try knocking. I have been here for two days and learned that behind every weathered face is a kind-hearted Irishman who is more than willing to point me in the right direction.
I miss all of those I left at home, but I’ll admit: today was a good day. It was a day of discovering how to shop at an Irish grocery store and a day spent learning all the shapes, forms, and sizes the euro comes in. Today I ordered an espresso from somewhere other than Starbucks, and it was today when I realized that sections of my college campus actually resemble a medieval castle. I think I am actually beginning to love Ireland. Who could ask for a better day?