This weekend I did some work on my photos of Ireland. I’ll share some with you; I took too many. Unsure of my abilities, I often took the same shot twice or three times to make sure I got one good photo (I guess that’s what happens when you are still learning).
Ireland still calls to me. I don’t think that was my last trip there. But before I can return, I have to pay for this past trip (ouch) and write my thank-you notes.
Americans joke that we’ll move to another country should a certain candidate win the upcoming election. If you’re thinking of moving to Ireland, here is the website you should consult.
I got this information from Irish Central, a daily electronic newsletter that has lots of ads. Sometimes its content is worthwhile. For instance, the October 5 issue had an article by James O’Shea: “A beautiful poem for the departed adapted by Irish monks.”
The poem is “Death is Nothing at All” by Henry Scott-Holland. It is beautiful.
Peace, love, and solace
Death Is Nothing at All
by Henry Scott-Holland
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together with Christ.