POISON GARDENS.

IRELAND
County Cork

I'm not sure if it was my obsession with Norman Reedus' skill at kill in Boondock Saints, my fascination for anything abandon, or my deep rooted relationship with irish whiskey that lead my red reeboks to the island...

I followed the three of them everywhere...

we wandered in and out of castle backyards for days as if they were our own in Riverwest.

"the ravens followed us."

Betsy & I found ourselves lost at golden hour in "magic gardens", where apparently a bunch of witch's use to casually cast spells; to enter the gardens you had to close your eyes n' wish your way down the "witch's staircase." 

I'm still banking on that wish to come true.

I can still taste the foreign air, feel the leftover rain drops make their home on my forehead, hear my own thoughts walking backwards up the stone steps.

I would be lying to you if I told you I wasn't posing in "fairy trees." I was. We all were. We were all just posing in "fairy trees." 

--

I stopped often to take photographs of flowers decorating the castle's exterior. I let the girls know I was taking them for grandma. 

I lied.

they were for me... 
they reminded me of perfect hardcover insides I flipped through as a little girl; A place I now existed in.

Every rose has its thorn, 

but the Wolf's Bane at our feet, 

had its own death rate.

-- 

Killing Greek Gods & dripping its poison down arrow tips since BC. 

secretly tempted to steal a leaf or two...

I left the Wolf's Bane, but only cause because the rain came.