It was good to be back in Ireland. My annual trips to Sligo had not only helped my understanding of the ancient language of the land, but given me an almost native comprehension of the modern as well.
It was a warm morning for Sligo; the sea breeze was usually cooler this time of year. Doesn’t matter; I’ll just lay here a bit longer; eyes closed, pondering the first cup of tea like you can’t get anywhere else in the world. Milk, not cream; no sugar, please.
The pain in my temple made me shoot upright in bed, which not only made the pain worse, but confused me immensely—there was no reason I should be in Sligo right now; the first glimpse of the room confirmed that, indeed, I was not.
I should, in fact, have been on the floor of the shed outside this house, not lying in my underwear in a feather bed in an upstairs bedroom.
Memory; that’s it, I’ve been having trouble with my memory.
An excerpt from my book, “Through the Fog: An Irish Advenure”. It is available at Amazon.