I am a bodhrán that fights back
I am the sudden swirl of green tea in a celadon pot
I am the light in the eyes of a new lover
I am the lift underneath a pinging lamb
I am the hardy flower that cracks open the stone
I am the gentle kiss on my duaghter’s cheek at night
I am not the person you think I am
I am the day I left home for good.

--Gleann Cholmcille, May 2004