Since about birth, I’ve been reassuringly predictable. I thrive on knowing what the day brings when I open my eyes each morning. Today, I changed all that. I woke up, disregarded my carefully laid out itinerary for the day, packed a bag, and purchased a ticket to Ireland. I didn’t even call my employer to let them know I wouldn’t be in for a few days. A part of me hoped I wouldn’t be coming back.
That wild, uncommitted segment of my personality reveled in the crisp Irish air, but jet lag drew me to the fluffy bed scented with fresh lavender and into sleep. When I woke the next morning, I found a young maid with freckles and ginger hair who cheerfully directed me to a small breakfast buffet laid out to welcome foreign guests. I selected a scone dotted with fruit and nibbled it as I looked around the foyer, surprised to find no other guests up and about since I had only found a room due to the luck of a last minute cancellation.
As I approached the front door, music drew me toward it with graceful footsteps. I resisted the urge to let full on dance take over as I pulled open the door and stepped out onto the cobbled streets. The soft lilt of the voices surrounding me calmed me as I stepped out into a small town fair of some kind.
Every business had doors thrown wide and small tables with handmade items and treats for sale. Townspeople and tourists stopped to grab whatever caught their eye, before the music captured their feet and set them to dancing. I followed the sound until I found the central square, where a small stage held the inspiring music makers. Watching a couple young women gave me more confidence to set my tapping feet free for a moment.
As the band launched a new song, my Irish blood raced to my feet and they began to carry me along with the crowd. When I stopped worrying about mirroring the movements of the women about me, the joy of the dance made me one with the wave of dancers. As quickly as I caught onto the rhythm of one piece, another began.
I stepped back toward the shade under the eaves of a nearby business only to find my way blocked by a broad chest separated from a shapely pair of legs by a kilt in muted greens and reds.
“Excuse me,” I said assuming I had stumbled into someone else’s trajectory.
As I looked up, dimples greeted me on either side of wide smile framed by a carefully trimmed red beard, “I would excuse you except I was hoping to dance with you."
I shook my head, “I don’t know this dance.”
As soon as I spoke, his smile brightened and he offered his hand again as he reassured in an exaggerated brogue, “Ah. An American lass. I’ll show ye.”
He took my hands and guided me. I melted into him, following his steps with more ease than I would have imagined.
“You’d never know ye weren’t Irish,” he whispered into my ear.
I blushed and wondered if maybe I had more Irish blood than I thought. Then the thought danced away as the music changed again and my partner pulled me into his arms for a slow dance.
~~~
Sounds like the start of a Hallmark movie, doesn’t it? Summer is fast approaching and many of us are probably about ready to do something wild and different. Hopefully, with someone who adores us even if we have a funny accent….
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