And Part II from last Father’s Day. We miss you so much.
Father’s Day began with an interesting encounter.
After I rejoined my children, we left Belfast and started up the coast of County Antrim. Through a steady mix of sun and halting rain we saw emerald fields dotted with supremely relaxed cows. Herds of sheep were bedecked with neon streaks of pink and Kelly green.
We stepped lively across the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. (For tourist purposes it had been described as “heart stopping,” but we found it genteel.)
Later we careened down a steep, narrow road to take a peek at the world’s smallest church.
We stood in awe before a road lined with silver oak trees whose branches reached across and clutched one another in a vista out of Pan’s Labyrinth.
And at mid-day, as rain began to spatter like tears against its hexagonal basalt columns, we gingerly stepped to the edge of the Giant’s Causeway and let go…
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