An Irish Dewdrop

We are driving through a dark forest, just you and me. There before us is a lovely valley. Pulling over, we step out and at the meadow's entrance is a mockingbird, sweetly whistling his many songs from a strand of barbed-wire. The sun is just beginning to awake life. A hazy mist slowly begins to lift. A sparkling dew remains, illuminating the uniquely brilliant green countryside of Ireland. A herd of snowy ponies gallivant across the inlet. The jagged coast can be seen in the distance, a vivid blue ocean shining as a jewel in the early morning. An old stone lighthouse sits on a cliff, armed to save a stranded ship. Waves bash against a rugged fishing boat with its warped oars that is tethered in the cove below. We soon see a little Irish lass. Red hair, freckled, and always a bright white smile. Her yellow sun dress fans out as she spins in circles, so happy with life. So carefree. She joyously runs barefoot through the dewdrops on clover petals. A young lad joins the scene, gently picking a bouquet of white daisies. He continues on, meeting up with the girl, presenting her with the aromatic flowers. They grasp hands, and contently skip away into the salty breeze. Oh to be young, to be carefree. To see things through an Irish dewdrop. To see things as simple as they really are. For its the simple things in life that count!