Smells of pink tulips when we eat breakfast with the door open. Triangles with cheese, vanilla tea, and crunchy flakes do not miss the attention of a black-and-white cat. Colorful hammocks rock us on the porch, and we look at soap bubbles as if it is magic. A badminton shuttlecock flies across the blue sky from me to you. And storks dance over a field of bright yellow rapeseed.

I remembered how is the feeling when you stare at stars. There are thousands of them, in front of a small white cottage with a red door in Connemara. We raise our heads up and contemplate sparkling points on a brisk night at the end of October.