3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mac

B ridget retrieves my suitcase from the trunk and insists on carrying it up the path to the cottage door. I follow, my heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and excitement. She unlocks the door and steps inside, holding it open for me.

The interior is as charming as the exterior. The main room is cozy, with a small fireplace and a comfy armchair next to a bookshelf filled with well-worn books. A wooden table near the window overlooks the cliffs and the sea beyond. To the left is a small kitchen, equipped with all the essentials—nothing fancy, but more than enough for my needs. The rustic decorations and wooden beams overhead give the space a warm, inviting feel.

Bridget places my suitcase by the door and gestures toward the kitchen. "I've stocked the cupboards and fridge with basics—tea, coffee, milk, bread, butter. Most of it is local, except the coffee. I even baked the bread myself this morning. I run the bakery in town."

Well, that explains the flour in her hair. Her pride is evident, and I smile at her kindness. "Thank you, Bridget. This is perfect. Exactly what I needed."

She nods, pleased, and gives me a quick tour of the cottage. "There's the bathroom down the hall, and your bedroom is just here on the right. It's small, but the bed's comfortable, and the linens are freshly laundered. I also left some extra blankets in the closet in case the nights get chilly."

I peek into the bedroom. The double bed is small but inviting, with a patchwork quilt adding a touch of color to the room. A window offers a stunning view of the sea that takes my breath away.

Bridget continues, "If you need anything else, or just want a chat and have something sweet to eat, don't hesitate to stop by the bakery. It's a short walk through the forest to the village. You can easily see the path from the back of the cottage. The pub also has delicious food each night if you don't feel like cooking."

We return to the main room, and Bridget ensures everything is in order. "Well, that's it. I'll leave you to settle in, but if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

I thank her again, my heart full of gratitude. As she heads for the door, she turns back as though remembering something. "Just be careful if the weather turns; we might have some storms this week, so stay away from the cliffs during those."

With that, she bids me farewell and steps out into the cool afternoon air. I stand for a moment, letting the quiet wash over me. The scenery is surreal, somehow bringing peace to my very being.

Dragging my suitcase toward the bedroom, I appreciate the simple charm of the space. The room feels lived-in yet welcoming, as if it's been waiting for someone to fill it. Unpacking my clothes, I carefully place them in the drawers and hang a few garments in the small cupboard. The act of settling in grounds me, making this place feel more like my own, even if only for a week.

With everything neatly put away, I return to the main room and set my art supplies on the little table near the window. I take out my sketchbook, cameras, and pencils, arranging them beside the art supplies.

Before settling down, I wander into the kitchen. The thought of the fresh bread Bridget mentioned makes me smile, but I'll save it for the morning. I fill the kettle, set it to boil, and prepare some coffee. As the kettle hums, I find a plain, slightly chipped mug, adding to the cottage's rustic charm.

The first sip of the dark brew warms me from the inside out. I carry the mug to the little table, easing into the chair, and gaze out at the view. The light dances across the waves, casting silver reflections like stars in daylight.

As I sip my drink, my mind drifts to the colors I might capture on paper during my stay—the blues and greens of the ocean, the warm golden hues of the setting sun, and the deep, dramatic shadows cast by the cliffs.

Itching to create something, I set my empty mug to the side as I think about the forest behind the cottage and the village of Ennisvarra beyond. The ocean view is breathtaking, but the dense greenery sparks my curiosity. Just like home, some of the leaves were turning, going through the cycles from greens to red and orange for fall.

What inspiration might the trees and flowers offer? I grab my jacket and slip it on, stepping out of the cottage and into another kind of fairytale. I nearly expect a bird to land on my shoulder because that's exactly what this feels like.

The soft sounds of nature—birds singing, leaves rustling, and the distant murmur of the ocean—greet me. I follow the narrow path from the back of the cottage into the forest, the ground transitioning from sandy soil to a carpet of pine needles and fallen leaves.

The trees stand tall and proud, their branches forming a canopy overhead that filters the sunlight into dappled patches on the ground. The air is cooler, tinged with the scent of pine and earth, as if I've stepped into another world—older and wilder.

As I walk, I let my senses take in everything—the way the light changes the colors around me, the texture of the bark beneath my fingertips, the sounds of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush.

My thoughts drift to the art supplies waiting back at the cottage, imagining the scenes I might create from this walk. Perhaps a series of sketches capturing the forest's moods, or a painting that blends the forest with the cliffs and sea. I'll need to bring my camera tomorrow to capture some details for accuracy.

The path eventually opens up, revealing a glimpse of Ennisvarra through the trees. It's small and quaint, with stone cottages and narrow streets that curve naturally with the landscape. I make my way down to the village, thinking about visiting the little store to stock up on a few essentials—fresh produce, maybe some cheese, and perhaps a bottle of wine.

The cobblestone streets and stone cottages exude an old-world charm, and it feels like I've stepped back in time. The village is quiet, with only a few people out and about, but there's a warm, inviting energy that puts me at ease.

I spot the small building with a wooden sign that reads "Briar's General Store." The windows are lined with jars of preserves and woven baskets filled with fruits and vegetables. I push open the door, and a little bell jingles overhead.

The interior of the store is homey, with shelves packed with all sorts of goods—everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts. The air is scented with the earthy aroma of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. A woman, likely in her late forties, stands behind the counter, her dark hair streaked with gray and pulled back into a neat bun. She looks up as I enter, her eyes warm and welcoming.

"Hello there," she greets me with a friendly smile. "You must be the new visitor staying up at Bridget's cottage. Word travels fast around here."

I nod, returning her smile. "Yes, that's me. I'm Mac."

"Welcome to Briar's General Store, Mac. I'm Maeve, and this here is my son, Liam," she says, gesturing to a young man stocking shelves nearby. He looks up and waves, his smile just as welcoming as his mother's.

He looks like he is in his early twenties, with tousled brown hair and a lanky build. There's a lightness in his expression that suggests he's always ready with a joke or a kind word.

They look like nice friendly people, and there is nothing inside me that feels like they aren't.

"Nice to meet you," Liam says, stepping forward. "If you need help finding anything, just let us know."

"Thank you, I will," I reply. Liam smiles at me before getting back to the shelves, and I take in everything new. Visiting another country always seemed so intimidating to me, but at least here we speak the same language. I can read all the labels, and even though some things are different, a lot is the same.

I take my time browsing, selecting a few items that catch my eye—plump, juicy apples, a jar of local honey that I know will be heaven on the fresh bread, and a small wheel of cheese wrapped in wax paper. As I move toward the back of the store, I find a selection of wines, most of them from nearby vineyards. I choose a bottle with a label that boasts a picturesque vineyard and promises notes of berry and oak.

Maeve watches as I place my items on the counter. "You've picked some of our finest," she says with a nod of approval. "That wine comes from a family-owned vineyard just a few miles from here. Perfect for a cozy evening in."

As she rings up my purchases, she continues, "If you're planning on staying for a while, be sure to stop by our little market on Saturday mornings. We have fresh produce, baked goods, and sometimes even handmade crafts from the locals."

"I'll definitely check it out," I say, handing over the money. "I'm looking forward to exploring the area."

"We're glad to have you here," Liam chimes in, as he helps bag my items. "This village is small, but it has its charms. If you need any recommendations, just ask. We all know the best spots around here."

"Thank you, Liam. I'll keep that in mind," I say, feeling more at home with each passing moment.

Maeve hands me the bag with a kind smile. "And if you ever need anything else, don't hesitate to stop by. We're here every day except Sundays. That's when we all take a break, even the store. Oh, and also on Samhain, we're closed too."

I frown slightly, the unfamiliar term catching me off guard. "Samhain?" I ask, the word rolling off my tongue awkwardly. I'm not sure if I've pronounced it right, and from the look on Maeve's face, she seems to notice my confusion.

Maeve chuckles softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, I forget sometimes that not everyone knows the old traditions. Samhain is October 31st—what you might call Halloween."

Liam, who has been listening from the side, chimes in, "It's a time when the veil between our world and the spirit world is thin. We are a superstitious lot around these parts."

With a curious smile, I nod, absorbing the information. "I'll bear that in mind," I say, my tone light but respectful, sensing the importance of the tradition to them. With a final exchange of smiles, I thank them both again before stepping out of the cozy store and into the village square.

As I continue exploring Ennisvarra, the beauty of the stone cottages catches my eye. Many are adorned with vibrant flowers in window boxes and ivy climbing up their walls, creating a picturesque scene, one I yearn to photograph. Children play in the cobblestone streets, their laughter mingling with the soft hum of conversation from nearby mothers who gather in small groups. I can only assume they are sharing gossip from the way they glance in my direction and wave in greeting all at once.

I make my way past several intriguing shops—one that specializes in handmade crafts and another that looks like it might have a collection of vintage trinkets. Each storefront adds to the village's character, and I make a mental note to return and explore them more thoroughly.

As I stroll, Bridget waves to me from inside the bakery. She's engaged in conversation with a young woman who must have helped look after the bakery while Bridget was at the airport. The smell of baked bread and sweet pastries wafts through the open door. I give Bridget a cheerful wave back, but continue on.

Turning the corner, I spot the pub. It's already starting to get busy as the sun begins to set. Men are gathered outside, enjoying drinks and sharing jokes, their voices a cheerful backdrop to the scene. The scent of hearty food drifts out, tempting but not enough to make me feel hungry after my long flight. I decide to save my visit for another night when I'm more ready for a full meal and to soak in everything the quaint space has to offer.

With the evening drawing closer, I head back toward the path through the forest. The sky is beginning to blush with the colors of sunset, casting a warm, golden light over the village and I don't want to miss the view from the cottage.

As I make my way back through the trees, the air feels charged with a subtle energy, almost like static electricity. The glimpses of sky above offer a canvas of warm hues—golden oranges and soft pinks—that seem to intensify with each step and look so different from when I came through earlier. This is why I love to have my camera with me, taking pictures of the same place but at different times of the day can make all of the colors on my palate shift. What was once bright green and golden foliage now has hints of oranges surrounding it. The pictures help me stick to one specific time when I paint them, so that my colors don't mix in a way that doesn't do the scenery justice.

Reaching the edge of the forest, I emerge into the clearing where the cottage stands, its silhouette now framed by the fiery hues of the setting sun. The sea, visible from the cottage, reflects the sky's warm colors, and the view is breathtaking. The golden light dances across the waves, turning them into a shimmering expanse of molten gold and deep blue.

I stand there, entranced by the slowly shifting colors, like magic has taken my paints and splashed them across the sky. This sight makes the travel worth it. This village with its cute cottage, beautiful cliffs, and enchanting forest is exactly what I needed.