Irish words often carry a double pulse: quick wit and slow sorrow keeping step. They prize the story over the sermon, blessing over boast, contradiction over certainty. Weather is a character, memory a neighbor, and music the measure of truth. Expect tenderness with teeth, rebellion with courtesy, faith shadowed by doubt. Fields, coasts, and crowded rooms lend texture; exile and home argue across a single line. The humor is dry as peat, the lyric plainspoken, the wisdom earned in rain, hearthlight, and the long patience of listening.
