Ballad of Mallard A Story of Friendship The ride from the airport was short but heavy with the weight of travel,
Lighter as we chatted with our new friends.
Home,
Their home,
Our bags clattered onto the hallway floor,
And before the jet lag could settle deeper,
Brad and Craig nudged us gently toward the back door and back outside.
The house itself was charming,
But it was the backyard that opened its arms to us.
Late afternoon light poured in from the west,
Unusually warm for Ireland.
The painted yellow walls of the garden glowed like they had been dipped in honey.
The garden stretched long and neat,
Framed by waist-high stone walls,
With flowers bending toward the sun and vegetables reaching upward as if in celebration,
Their pup Winston playing amongst our feet.
The garden itself seemed to lean closer,
Fruit trees flickering in the warm light,
The shed in the corner humming faintly as if it were listening in.
A table was set under the awning,
The smell of lamb stew curling through the air,
Mingled with roasted vegetables and potatoes crisping on the barbecue.
We sat,
Plates warm,
Glasses filled,
Laughter loosening the last stiffness of strangers.
Time unfolded gently.
Hours slipped by in that golden light,
Stories finding their way across the table,
Jokes landing easily,
Smiles growing steadily fuller.
The air was not just warm from the sun,
It was warm from us,
The four of us leaning closer,
Opening to something unnamed but unmistakable.
By the time the dishes were cleared and the sky shifted toward evening,
Brad leaned back in his chair with a sly smile.
Shall we show you the pub?
He asked.
I thought of my heavy eyelids,
Of the long stretch of hours awake,
But before I could speak my wife reminded me softly that the best cure for jet lag was to step fully into the new day,
And so we did.
Their delight was obvious,
The promise fulfilled to friends waiting down the street.
Within minutes we were ushered into a lively room of music,
Chatter and introductions,
Our presence folded seamlessly into theirs.
It felt as though the whole town lifted a glass in welcome.
Later,
Back in the quiet of the little guest room overlooking Main Street,
We finally let ourselves sink into bed,
The soft glow of the streetlight cast against the curtains,
Catching on our tired faces.
What began as a day of uncertainty had softened into something rare.
Four separate people,
Unknown just hours earlier,
Had leaned into each other and,
Without trying,
Had become one.
A single essence that would continue to grow like a broad smile as we traveled through Northern Ireland in the days ahead.
Sleep came quickly,
But even in dreams our new family and town lingered.
