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.
