Killarney Christmas

Killarney Wakes Killarney wakes in a hush that tastes of pine and the sea, a breath held between weather fronts, and Niamh Kelleher sets her shoulder to the morning like it’s an old friend. The fairy lights along the front parlour window blink in a slow heartbeat while she ices trays of cinnamon buns, a flurry of sugar settling on the oak like first snow. Radio Kerry chimes the forecast—“a cold snap, mind yourselves”—and in the pause before the kettle clicks, she hears a taxi’s tyres hiss past the guesthouse and splash the kerb.