Grief and sickness gnawed at my edges for a loose thread. Myseams, stitched with strength and fortitude many lifetimes before this one,held fast. My mind whispered to memories of better times and my body to hope forrenewal of physical strength like the earth waiting for spring.  That’s how I stepped onto Inis Mor.

Private in my struggle for wellness after major surgery lessthan two months before, my mind was a battlefield of longing over ability, andmy ability was testing me daily. I wandered near for fear far was too much and therugged sooth-stone of Inis Mor was a delight at every step. She unveiledherself each morning with rich green fields, shiny pebbled beaches, and stonewalls to guide my every step.

Her gentle breeze soothed every doubt that bubbled askingwhy I’d come. Now I can’t say she was happy to see me on day one as she stormedand drove rain to the bone as soon as I stepped off the ferry. But after rantingat my presence for the better part of that first day, she calmed and made thebest of it. Secretly, I think it was the other writers that made her mad. Let’sgo with that.

The balcony of Kilmurvey House made the feeble starlightmagical when Inis Mor bedded down for the night. The moon bathed the land in awonderous hue that whispered of ancients and secrets that I could never hope tounderstand. When sunrise beckoned each morning, I dared not miss it and InisMor quietened the sighs both inside and out as I dodged to get a new point ofview. I sat on the beach, in the meadow, and one day dared to sit with the deadas dawn drenched both the land and my spirit into a new day.

Dún Aengus behind me was the last to get the sun, butpossibly the first as the fortified plateau at the top of the ridge was enticinglike that. It was a long way up and most of the others had already explored it.The views were supposed to be spectacular. I wondered in those first days if I’dfind out for myself.

The island challenged me every morning in a duel to the lifeand finally I accepted. Morning number six would be the day. I wanted to watchthe sun and it would be bright enough for about an hour to hike the greatlandscape before the sun actually crested the eastern horizon. Arguably, as Iwent up, the rise to the east wasn’t as elevated, so I had to keep that inmind.

I was a tiny bit anxious in the morning. What if I couldn’tmake it flashed through my mind as I slid into the pre-dawn gloaming. I wasgoing to take my time and if it took me all day, I’d eventually get there mystubborn self reminded and, of course, coming down would be a lot easier.

Outside in the garden, to my surprise, Ed was waiting. Hewas an early riser and, truth be told, his wife made him go in case I got intotrouble. He was no company and the best company at the same time. He went aheadand lingered and got side tracked and explored and passed me and lingered andin no way put any pressure on me to do more than I was doing. I hardly knew hewas there. I think Inis Mor had sent him to let me know I did not need to fearher majesty nor the path.

The climb was hardly a climb to most of the writers on theretreat. I’m sure Ed could have been up and back a few times before I crossedthrough the last doorway into the fortress. The sun had waited for me, too. Thefresh salt air filled my lungs as I gazed west toward Newfoundland and waved. Ifelt more alive in that minute than I had in a long time.

I watched the sun break through the mist on the horizon andinfuse itself into everything around me. The land sang of rebirth, the searoared several hundred feet below, the wind hurled itself over the cliff faceinto the solemnity of the rock-walled fortress just like it must have done fivethousand years before. Despite all the days before this one, this was the firstfor me. It was magically awesome and fulsomely simple. I wondered on thehardship for the layers of the stones and thanked them for their dedication togetting me to this day. I explored the crevices and stayed away from the cliff’sedge just in case it wanted to curtsy me off into the Atlantic. I’ll make myown way down, thank you very much. And so, I did.

I went up a few more times, no longer fearful of my ability.Each time was breath-taking, sometimes because of the wind but always becauseof the beauty of Inis Mor and my eagerness to reach the top. Etched in rock, tattooedwith fences, alive with people, she’s been steadfast in her service to those sheharbours and those who step onto her shores.

I don’t know that my feet will ever feel Inis Mor beneaththem, but if it does, I’ll remember her cradling me in her care and I’llrespect all that she offers because of that and because it’s the right thing todo. I wave at her sometimes from the edge of the Atlantic. I’m hopeful shefeels my breath climb her cliffs and as it joins with the millions of otherswho sing her praises.

Thank you, little island, you made a big impression and securedmy threads so I can endure the next storm.