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:: The Color Of Green
September 3, 2000
The Color Of Green
Ireland
The color of green is a sweep of new jade
the hum of the sea before dawn.
It's the mint before winter, an arbor afloat.
It's the freshness of spring in the fall.
It's the soft gray walls - the "stacking of rocks"
and the gleam-skimming lakes of Kilarney.
It's the lone red sail in Scarriff Bay.
A kiss of the stone in Blarney.
A wisp of a dream, this color of green -
with its smoking of peat on the hearth.
A Bunratty farmhouse.
The sway of high pines.
The spike in the coffee's froth.
It's the color of ivy crowding brick and white frames,
a Holstein among yellow wildflowers.
The color of green is a fawn-faced teen;
the slim rise of Glendolough's towers.
A quilt fans behind the River Shannon.
A blue cart, red wheels, a stone mill.
Green's the color of carbon revealed at low tide,
it's the pillows of sheep on a hill.
The ubiquitous Claddagh ring speaks of the heart.
The town of Tralee names a "rose;"
a bonny young lass who garners a prize -
a tradition honored in prose.
Flowerboxes of white and magenta
where O'Flynn and Fitzgerald hang signs,
drape a sash of Mombresia,
Foxglove in full bloom -
a cradle for summer's recline.
Rainbow pubs.
Doe-eyed toddlers
flecked with peaches 'n' cream.
Celebration of poets and writers.
It's the Georgian façades of Stephens' Green
the fierceness of spirit in fighters.
Warm aroma of sugar and butter
is the color of green's apple pie;
It's the sheath of mossed stone,
filigree of Wilde's home
and the croon of Athenry.
As the green ripples silver in Kerry,
St. Pat's boasts the peal of its bells.
It's MacGillycuddy's Peaks,
Kerry's misted Gaelic "Reeks."
It's the flourish that penned Book of Kells.
"Remember the famine,"
defend the north.
Green's the pride and tradition of Trinity.
It's the Burren in Clare,
a broken comb scare
it's the rush of the River Liffey.
It's the tin whistle's piping,
the timber flute's ping,
the expanse of breath in the "box."
The color of green protects fairies unseen;
It's the spell in a witch's red locks.
It's good times or "good craic" at the Ceili,
a night of traditional song;
jaunty jigs, reels and the clicking of heels;
and the wail of a lass' forlorn.
Green's the color that honors its travelers -
Eyes smile, hands link, bodies sway.
It's the raising of glasses,
the toast from the lasses -
a wish for return one day.
The color of green is the pint you can't buy.
It pokes fun at sweet Molly Malone.
It's the hug from a stranger,
the warmth of a kiss,
it's the promise of friendships to come.
Green's the dusting of emerald in forty shades.
It's a jewel dispersed on the ocean.
The color of green is a lyric pristine -
The poetry that is Ireland.
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