It was a perfect day to follow the Kenmare River down to the Beara Peninsula along a road garnished with the richest ferns growing within and beneath a thick wood which broke often enough to gradually acquaint me with the spectacular water flowing no longer as a river, but swelling as an approaching sea, graced with vivid blues and greens translucent though not transparent, which when fully exposed by a farewell to the wooded land commanded more attention than the road therefore requiring periodic stops to hike and venture to stand along various outcroppings of deeply furrowed, aged rocky faces, staring out to sea, braced against its pounding thunder, sending water exploding, and my eyes, skyward to witness rain crossing over some mountaintops in the distance while simultaneously, sunlight illumined others, and where they commingled, a rainbow, whose otherwise alien colors began its climb from the ground only to disappear early in its arcing movement, dissolving in the opacity of a heavy mist still hiding the peaks of earth which left me wondering, where, or do, they end?
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