Neeve, a tale..

Or however you spell it.

Nieve is the name of a pretty Irish girl I ate breakfast with at a hostel in Doolin.
Haha I don't even know how to spell it, but it's pronounced 'Neeve.'

"It's the name of an Irish legend," she tells me. About a princess who runs away with her husband to an island where time stands still.

The sun was shining in the hostel's 'backyard,' and a gentle breeze blew. Tunics and dresses flapped on the clothesline, almost appearing alive. In Ireland, I'd believe it..

"They were happy," she tells me, "but one day the husband misses his family and wants to visit them."

My ears want to perk up so badly but I don't have the little muscles to do that so I give her the Spock inquisitive eyebrow raise.

"Neeve urges him to take her horse, and to not let his feet touch the ground of the mainland because he will cease to be youthful, the spell shall break if he does.

I'm on the edge of my picnic bench as Neeve fixes her golden hair and continues the tale.
She looks young and right out of a fairytale, I wonder how true this story is..

"Back home, the husband finds that his town is different; buildings, culture, people. He recognized no one. So much time had passed that his family and friends were long dead. In disbelief he falls to the ground near his home and immediately withers to dust, as his time has long come.

Back on the island, Neeve knows what happened since her husband did not return.
She continues to live on the island, and becomes queen, and Neeve (the real one sitting in front of me) is smiling as if it's a happy ending, haha.

"It's nice to meet you, Queen Neeve," I bow.
She laughs.

Now that is a breakfast in Ireland.