For the fifth summer, we’ve returned to live in Armagh for a month where the air is perfumed with peat and the water heals our skin. The pavement fits my feet. I sleep better here. My soul connects to the sky.
“It’s weird and not weird,” Terri says of our homecoming.
“It smells the same,” Kerrin says of the Armagh City Hostel.
I am filled with the joy of re-uniting with creative writing faculty Nessa and our compadres in the hostel. I look forward to hugging our friends at the AmmA Centre, the Marketplace Theatre and the John Hewitt writing festival. I hope the ladies in the Basement Cafe repeat what they said last year when we arrived to purchase our favorite marshmallow cappuccino, “Oh! Is it July already!?”
I’ve missed the cathedral bells. They mark the breath of time.