The land, oh this land, how it brims with secrets and boils with the voices of the past.  Their stories screaming within rock and stone, their riddles lurking in ruins.   You don't have to follow a set path to find them, you don't have to go far to stumble; into a tower, a castle, a little church hidden amongst the trees.  There are stone circles and ring forts, friaries and round towers, manor houses and cottages.  Some are falling, some are fallen and some stand still as they did before, their walls beaming defiance at a history that let few remain as they were made.

Ireland is a beautiful place, a mystical place, a place where shadows play in the twilight, hiding faeries just beyond reach, and magic just out of sight.   It is a place whose lands are dotted with symbols of time, stark reminders of the past and our own fleeting role in it.