Distance: 15 miles
Route Notes:Passes Kilfenora Cathedral and high crosses, edge of the Burren National Park.
Location Reflection– Corkscrew Hill:
I climbed in silence, just my breath and the wind, both ragged by the time I reached the top. The Atlantic curled away into forever, blue and endless. I wished Joshua were here to see it. Maybe he was, in a way. My legs were jelly, lungs on fire, andI could almost hear Danny laughing: “It’ll hurt like the sins, mo a mhac, but it’ll set you right.” We’ll see.
Journal:
Near Corofin
Rain today. Cold. Soaking. Took shelter in an old barn that smelled of hay and sheep and something sweeter—honeysuckle, maybe.
I cried. Didn’t mean to. Didn’t even feel it coming.
Thoughts of Josh. Of Sarah. Of Hannibal.
But the sound of the rain was like someone whispering,You don’t have to hold it all in anymore.
And for once, I listened. Me and Ireland. We both wept.
I remember:
Falling asleep with his head on my chest, both of us half-dressed, dinner burning in the oven.
We didn’t care. The world could’ve ended, and I wouldn’t have moved.
I see:
An old woman on her porch, humming. Didn’t know the tune, but it stuck to me. Been carrying it all day.
I feel:
So goddamn lonely for Josh it’s like a bruise under my skin.
But also—an uneasy kind of peace. For once, nobody to steady but myself.
Day Four – Corofin → Ennis
Distance: 9 miles
Route Notes:A quiet walk through pastures and stone-walled fields. The River Fergus welcomes you into Ennis, its friary spire just ahead. The path wound through fields stitched with stonewalls and more sheep than seemed possible—each marked with a splash of red, blue, or purple paint, like moving brushstrokes across the green.
Location Reflection– Ruan:
I stopped at the little churchyard in Ruan, where moss blurred the names on half-forgotten headstones. The air smelled of rain and turned earth. I wondered if the people buried here had ever walked these roads, carrying grief they couldn’t lay down. It felt like they might understand why I’m here.
Journal:
The road into Ennis felt softer somehow—hedgerows leaning close, cattle lifting their heads as I passed. In the distance, the spire of the friary reached above the rooftops like a hand raised in blessing. I slowed without meaning to, letting the sound of voices and clink of dishes drift out from shopfront cafés. After days of near-silence, the noise wrapped around me like a worn coat I hadn’t realized I missed. I’m not ready to step back into other people’s lives—not yet. But for the first time since I left, I can imagine wanting to.
I see:
Lichen-silvered stones leaning in the churchyard at Ruan, rain beading on their rough faces. Between the rows, grass lies pressed flat where wind has combed it. The friary spire ahead flickers in and out behind the gravestones. It’s keeping its distance until I’ve earned the view.
I feel:
A looseness in my chest I don’t trust, like a door has been unlatched but not opened. The hum of Ennis drifts toward me—clinking china, a snatch of laughter—and the sound movesthrough me like heat seeping into cold hands. I keep walking. Not ready to go in. Not yet.
