When I step inside the Inn, I feel a familiar tension in the air. Cearas has just made some sort of profound pronouncement that I am sorry I missed. The echo is all that I hear. It makes me sigh. Always just a heartbeat too late.

A familiar tension. I am home again! I smile at the people gathered here, all of them my family in one way or another. The undercurrents pull at my emotions, threatening to drag me under and drown me in the murky throes of Cumhaill rivalries. A sigh releases me from those well known clutches. I stay afloat, buoyed by a poet's particular and peculiar detachment of view. Oh, but aye, I am in it. I am deep in it, it flows in my veins! Sibling rivalries, lover's jealousies, everlasting daily conquests of the heart and the mind. We lash out at each other, strike hard at the tenderest and most secret spots, raise our voices, hands or fists, quick, fast and fiery. It keeps the warrior's blade and the poet's tongue sharp and swift.

Home again indeed. The words flow out of me as easily as tears, sweat or blood.

The wayward child
Wild wandering bard
Hard pressed to settle
Nettle rose of thorn
I return once more
Core of my Art
Part love, part war
Far I will roam
Home always waits
Mates of kith and kin
In Cumhaill pride
Tied through blood and bound
Around the family tree
We flourish in our passion
Flash of sword or imbas bright
Fight or feast, battle or song,
Strong hands, bold hearts!