Adventures in Ireland: The Land of Rainbows
They (yes, the omniscient "they") call Ireland The Emerald Isle, and truly 'tis. But perhaps a more fitting label would be The Land of Rainbows. Never in my life have I seen so many rainbows, either in quality or sheer volume; and I suspect I never will again. I was so struck by them, I started to write a poem. They hath moved me to poetry! Here's a snippet:
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely...as the rainbows I saw in Ireland.
Yes, the arc of the rainbow is long, but it bends towards Ireland.
On the western side of the island country, where the weather alternates between rain and sun every fifteen minutes, one is bombarded with rainbow after rainbow: full and clear and spectacular rainbows. They burst out of the sea when you stand by the cliffs and fill the fields like the St Louis Arch when you drive across the western countryside; you can drive under them; you can see rainbows on top of rainbows; sometimes they're so close you swear that if you ran fast enough you could reach out and touch them. If you like rainbows, and you like beer, then you should go to Ireland, because they've got 'em both.
The bad news is, not once did I see a pot of gold at the end of any of them. I'm starting to think that's just a myth perpetrated by the pro-rainbow lobby.