I saw her then

around the hundredth bend since Galway

thumb out

cherub rosy cheeks of youth

in the misty rain.

By instinct, I pulled to the roughened side

hastily clearing the seat of

rain pants, extra socks, and water bottle

ahead of rushed exhalations of thanks.

Sensible brown boots and backpack first

followed by

blue and white well-worn, patterned skirt

over black tights, and frayed herder’s jacket.

She unraveled a colorfully woven headscarf

to release auburn dreadlocks;

against skin so fair, she could have been a

bohemian Colleen.

She called herself Cari.

From her Czech-English I heard

Ceddy.

In the briefest of full looks

while driving left side,

I saw her eyes —

the lightest of greens;

iridescent like Bahama seas.

They told me the story of a curious

and trusting wanderer

hitchhiking across Eire,

as she had Finland

and will –

Iceland.

With her lustrous cheeks warming

she relayed her studies in anthropology,

while I asked her about religion,

her intentions,

her reasons.

I asked if her mother worried.

(she told me she carried a knife)

She climbed out

thirty four kilometers later at Clifton

not at all wanting to accept

the fifteen euro I shoved

into her gloveless hands.

Waving goodbye, I realized

each of us has the courage

to become a pilgrim;

to let go,

and step into the void of mystery,

the magic of the possible.

All that is required

is faith.

And a willingness

to fall in love again

with creation.

~ Jennifer Comeau, 02 April 2015