It was on Day 2, on the road between Dublin and Cork, when it hit me that the greens that decorated Mom’s days were the greens that decorate Ireland. You read about them before you come — about their depth, shimmer and variety — but books can’t capture the way the hue of the hillside in front of you, fleeced with sheep, will be markedly different from that of the hillside behind you, flecked with cows.
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