April in Dublin signifies not only a time and place, yet a feeling. A feeling of the brisk morning air, woven into the intricacy of light, sparse rainfall; enough to coat the blooming leaves on Ailesbury Road in droplets of dew. Tiny puddles form in between the cracks of the ancient cobblestone road, drowning the lush moss – basil in colour – that once grew in its place. As dawn makes her presence, the radiant sunlight peeks through the branches of the Sycamore trees, originally sheltering the lane from the indecisiveness of Irish weather. The earthy scent of petrichor emanates from St. Stephen’s Green, while the putrid scent of damp cigarette stubs race to reach the nostrils first. Petals of blush cherry blossoms gracefully fall to the asphalt path, with some caressing tender skin with its velvet touch. In the afternoon, St. Patrick’s Cathedral echoes in Church Latin, whilst the cars pass – with their bellowing engines – on The Coombe, pacifying the hum of pedestrian chatter that cohabitate simultaneously. As cloudy skies fade to a blue dusk, the lights jig the River Liffey; its yellow reflection moving with the waves. Crowds drunkenly skip along the quay, singing old Celtic hymns off key, while also digesting the sweet, caramelized, mild bitterness of Guinness – the finest of Irish stout beer. At the end of the day, the night retires to her slumber, anticipating newer ordinary, yet sensational experiences that May will bring along.
inspired by my favourite author, sally rooney.
