Appropriately Poetic

Appropriately looks like it's spelled wrong...

So this here is an attempt at an apology for yesterday's odd rambling weirdness.
I'm hope this is more what you were looking for.

Ireland, especially Ireland at night, smells like winter. It smells cold and crisp and clear with moonlight that slices down in a classically ethereal way. And if you can find a quiet enough spot, right by the river, which is itself an ever swirling and agitating night, you can hear the cold. The sensation of ice without water rushing in to your body through every pore, through your ears, your nose, your lungs, your eyes. Down past your throat leaving silver in its wake, down into your lungs where it sits and tastes like winter.
But it's a solitary kind of winter. Like the sound of falling snow. I feel no compulsion to find a warm fire or drink hot alcoholic drinks that burn going down and keep a healthy fire in ones gut all night long. It's just comfortable sitting in the night wrapped in cold.

However, it does feel good to walk into a hot shower that smells vaguely like hot stones and tastes of minerals.