Under the Ivy

Under the IvyI want to visit Kate Bush’s England. Tolkien’s England. The England the Irish rarely deign to perceive.

C.S Lewis’s England–even though he was Irish.

Set me under the ivy, leave me there, with the green and the grey. And something good to read. I am tired of confusion and fatigued by hatred. Just leave me there with the foliage still blossoming despite the snow. Continue reading “Under the Ivy”