Day Twelve – Newcastle West → Abbeyfeale
Distance: 11 mi
Route Notes:Follows the Limerick Greenway west through gentle farmland and shaded stretches. Passes beneath stone railway bridges, hedgerows heavy with wildflowers. Glimpses of the River Feale as the path nears Abbeyfeale, a lively market town on the Limerick–Kerry border.
Location Reflection– Near Devon Road Station Ruins:
The platform’s just a low wall now, half-swallowed by grass. A single bench sits crooked under the trees, silvered by rain. I sat a while, listening to the wind thread itself through the old signal posts, wondering how many people had once stood here, waiting for a train to take them somewhere they needed to go.
Journal:
Stopped for Irish stew in a small pub, the kind that feels older than memory. A fiddle played in the corner—notes bright with joy and laced with longing. I smiled without meaning to. If Josh were here, he’d pull me up and make me dance.
And finally… I think maybe I could.
I sent his card today. No words—just a kiss pressed to it before I slipped it into the ancient green postbox. I hope he feels it when it lands in his hands.
I remember:
The night we sat in the glider, watching the moon rise above the Rivanna. Its light caught on the willows, painting them silver. My arm was around him, my cheek against his hair. Just breathing him in. He touched my face and whispered, “You’re my home, you know that?”
And I did know. I always knew.
I see:
The River Feale tumbling over rocks—dancing, leaping, wild—so like the Rivanna that my eyes stung.
I feel:
Can you grieve for a house? For boards and bricks and tiles? For furniture, curtains, pillows, and rugs? For the way the light poured through the window at dawn?
For me, the answer––always and forever––will be yes.
Day Thirteen – Abbeyfeale → Castleisland
Distance: 17 mi
Route Notes:
The road leaves Abbeyfeale and climbs into the hills, crossing into County Kerry. Bogland stretches out on either side, dotted with sheep and the occasional whitewashed cottage. Marian shrines stand at the roadside—some bright with fresh flowers, others weathered, their paint fading under years of wind.
Location Reflection– Kerry Border:
There’s no sign to mark the line between Limerick and Kerry, just a shift in the light—like stepping into a memory you didn’t know you had. The hills gather closer, the air feels older, and the road seems to carry its own quiet authority. I passed a Marian shrine tucked into a bend in the hill, its blue and white paint chipped but its candles still burning. The flame leaned into the wind but didn’t go out. I thought about how many storms it must have seen; how many names had been spoken here. I didn’t light one. But I whispered a name. The one that matters most.
Journal:
The climb out of Abbeyfeale was slow, my legs stiff from yesterday, but somewhere along the way the rhythm came back. By the time the bogland opened up, the air carried the smell I only ever find in Kerry—peat smoke, wet earth, something like rain even when the sky’s clear. The shrines kept me company. Each one is a reminder that these roads have been worn by prayers long before mine. This close to home, I can feel Danny in the hills, Aunt Aileen in the green that runs right up to the stone walls. I feel Kathy too—not as the girl we lost. No. Now she’s part of the wind that moves through these fields. The land here holds my people. And maybe, if I walk far enough, it’ll hold me again, too.
I see:
A shrine set against the slope of the hill, its candles flickering in the wind, the wax pooling at Mary’s feet.
I remember:
The first time Danny brought me back to Kerry after Kathy died—how he drove without saying a word until we crested the hill and saw the whole valley laid out below us. “Home,” he’d said, as if the word was enough to heal something. And it was.
I feel:
