SNIPPET: Eileen McGOVERN offers her view of Ireland -- "There is a peace in Ireland. It lives amongst its people. It's the slow, easy way a hand is extended to welcome you "home." No matter you weren't born there. Your father, mother or generations beyond were. And that is good enough. Not for rural Ireland the rushing from pillar to post. No mad yearning for fancy things. Bread in the press, tea in the pot, turf on the fire. An ever-open door, and no fear to squeeze it ajar, late or not, for there is always time, to stop, to sit, to talk, about days gone by and days to come. The quiet keeping of the old ways. Holding tradition. Unquestioningly. For that is the way things always were, and please God always will be. There is a natural and rugged beauty all around to please the weary eye. No skyscrapers here to pierce the sky but the soft outline of a tiny town, a bridge across the water, a swell of mountain peaks. A sleepy dog warms his belly on the road. He dozes, but doesn't dream of danger where he lies, for all that pass him will harm him not, they know he is there. Soft berries in the hedges swell, a childish hand may pull at one or two. Or maybe a soul who walked this way many years ago as that child now visits from a concrete city far away and feels the same thrill at finding that fruit. They as mothers and fathers now will press upon their children all the things that used to be. So simple, unmarred and pure. They try to paint a picture. And true to say the second generation share their love of their land and try so hard to see it as it was back then. No rattle of TV or buzz of telephone or watching of the loudly ticking clock is here. T'will get done when time is right, without worry or tightening of the heart. A spirit lives on, long after a family moves on to do "better" things. But so many return, and see, with eyes anew in the twilight of their lives, what they always had but could not see. Such a well-kept secret, this beauty is. And a heady drink to sip at for those, like me who know the speed of city life. My children too will know these things, I will make it my task to teach them. We must not let beauty go or change. Dear Ireland, a haven, a way of life which eludes so many. I dream of you on winter nights. You share that same moon and stars but are a million miles away. I wish I was there. I walk the roads and pass each house. I smell the air and hear the silence. And dream and dream of all that is you until I stand, feeling your peace, on your sacred land. -- Eileen McGovern