Synge’s Chair

I am sitting in Synge’s Chair.  Inis Mean.  Ireland.

Right now.  I write this sitting here.

This is what I see when I look down.

When I look straight out.

How happy am I.

It was a good trek to get here.  I passed his cottage on the way, and will on the way back.  We didn’t drive or ride bikes here.  We walked from the pier.

I am jealous of his ability to sit here and write as he did.  Or think as he did.  But I am glad he did.

The water is turquoise.  With white caps.  Darker turquiose.

I would say I’m sitting on the edge of the world.  But I’m not because I can see land across ‘the way’.  But I am certainly sitting on the edge of this island.  The wind is wicked strong.  But I am sitting in a circular ‘chair’.  Synge had a wonderful view, and comfort sitting here.

I’m glad he sat here and wrote.  It motivated me to walk here.

David is standing on the ledge below me to take a picture.  I nearly had a heart attack.   The wind is powerful enough to knock a man over.  Right off of a cliff.

This is amazing.

That’s all I have to say about this right now.