At the spot in Dublin where a small seashell filled with Jim’s ashes wafted into the sea, a tiny spray of them lifted by a breeze into an arc that glittered in the rising sun, one would be hard-pressed to distinguish heaven from earth, or earth from the sea.
I looked at the blush sea and sky “as the sea’s own beat resumed and made him part of the cadence of its waves,
. . .turquoise with rolling white tops.”
Many of my own words will follow in future posts about our travels, but for now I’ll share some of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s:
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea. . .