Our last day in Ireland. 

Steve and I can't remember what Steve was doing, why he was not with me when I was taking this photograph of the door.  There were no donkeys in Adare.  Regardless I was alone and intrigued, the door was not locked and what I found inside was a quiet cathedral and I was there alone with only this man, he had old patched pants and it seemed to me that he was a farmer who came into town for the day to visit this church.   He was so intense in the way he studied the religious icons on the wall.  I convinced myself as I studied him that he either committed some crime and his conscience was pushing him to find peace or he had suffered some great loss, his eyes were just so focused wide, and not aware of anything going on around him.  I did not talk to him, he does not know I took this picture I had the long lens and was not anywhere near him when I shot this.  Of all the people I met, he is the one who haunts me, and I wish I knew now what it was he was looking for.  He revealed in me this lack of trust in people this suspicion that we only come searching for God in time of  great fear or pain.

 After coming out of the church and meeting up with Steve we walked hand in hand down the streets.  Adare is a beautiful little town filled with thatched roof cottages. 

 We ate lunch in a 200 yr old pub and talked about how a 200 yr old building is just a puppy compared to the other buildings we had been in.

I took this picture of a quilt made by a local artist that was hanging in a shop we ducked into.  I thought of all my artistic friends here on Xanga and what you would want me to see for you.

Limerick was our next stop and I thought of my Father the entire time we were there.  He had stayed here for a few days while on his way to Iraq and regretted not seeing the famous treaty stone.  He did not realize how close it was until he was home.  Steve and I made a special trip to find it for him.  Every street we went down I wondered if he had gone down the same street, it was a very cool feeling knowing that he had been there. 

The treaty stone overlooks the river Shannon with a view of King Johns castle behind it.

King Johns castle (13th century).

Across the street from the castle was an antique store the owner was locking up when we came, literally keys in the door but she was happy to let us in.

My antiques that I bought here in her shop are worth as much to me as all my photographs. After reading so many books on the history of Ireland it is priceless to own some of it.

This was our last full day, we stayed in a hostel close to Shannon and had trouble finding it, we asked a couple, he was older and leaned in on the open window frame of our car and told us how to find it. 

Everyone we met was so friendly, for example we went into a pub and started talking to a group of older men smoking pipes.  I was curious about turf fires and if there were any bog cutters in the area and they all gathered around us talking over each other fighting to be the one heard, and I understood less than half of it because their accent was so thick.  I did not want them to stop talking I felt like I was in an independent film where you have to have captions on the understand what is being said, but everything is so different and wonderful that you keep watching.