Irish Butterflies 2.

Trim. Dunfanaghy. Belfast. Derry. Donegal. Galway. Cork. Dingle and Dublin. Inland waterfalls and seaside cliffs. Green, and I mean green, patches of farmland divvied up with lines of trees and rock. Fairy-like gardens and faery hills. Vallies and slopes, ancient man-made 'beehive huts'  and cozy foot bridges. Untold castles, church ruins, and graveyards. Rows of pastel-colored homes and store fronts on winding roads through  tiny towns that all look the same but distinctly different. Distilleries, breweries and the liveliest, kindest, welcome-est pubs on earth.

And yes, butterflies.



Queen Anne's Lace in ruin window



Just outside of Trim proper, if you stir up the long summer grasses  in  Newtown's cathedral ruins  of  Saints Paul & Peter,  white butterflies flit across your path. And that's their bfly name - whites. Coulda been small whites, green-veined whites, large or wood whites. Whatever whites they were, they flew fast and low, well away from me and my tromp through their ancient habitat. They headed toward the two-lane road or the low rock wall, and along the stream bank lined with Queen Anne's lace. They twirled around the stone celtic crosses and through the once-windows of the church ruin, trailing your eye past bushes, blue sky, gray sky, and mounds of clouds much like the skies of Florida's beaches.

Ruins and celtic cross

I found butterflies in one more place, a place that made it possible for me to bring home the spirit & image of Irish butterflies.  In downtown Dingle, across from the moored boats and near the oyster cafe, is the dearest little linen & lace shop called The Linen Chest. It's all bright white from shelf to wall to counter top. And it had butterfly goodies.

Of course they came home with me.

Hand-sewn lace butterfly in a frame.

A bfly tooth pillow that 

I stuffed with clover from

the cliff path along

Giant's Causeway.

A bfly linen bag filled with lavender, mmmmm.

Mmmmm - good word for the whole trip, butterflies and all! 

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