My granddad has ears like a Buddha statue, big and long ears, which can only hear the softest whisper of the loudest cry. Perhaps his ears are too busy listening to his own thoughts and memories. Perhaps he is listening to a voice that is no longer there. Parallel to his eyes, which are covered by a thick wall of glass, is a photo of him and my, now past, Nana. His eyes go to a distant galaxy, when looking at that photo. They look heavy and sad, from the pain of a love one leaving this Earth and entering the Kingdom of Heaven. But his eyes sparkle like the stars on a crisp, cool night, when his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are around him. He watches the lives, radiant as the sun, before him and his eyes smile with the joy of life. As the excitement of the children dims he looks down into his hands. His hands, the color of fresh cream, are fragile and paper-like; baring reminders of the years of hard work he endured providing for his family of eight. Hands that carried away four of his daughters to a man they love. Hands that have a slight shake like the tail of a rattlesnake when holding his cane. Hands that warmly clasp around mine like a midsummer day; when I see him for the first time in months. He also gives me a kiss on the cheek so soft; it is like a butterfly landing on a flower when I arrive. His lips are small and shrunken and his most of his teeth are either gone or decayed since he can no longer fit his dentures into such a small space. But it is not what the mouth looks like its what arises from his mouth. When my grandfather speaks he grasps the attention of the entire room and the air vibrates with every word, which is poured out of his mouth like golden honey. When he speaks I strain to hear and understand his thick Irish accent, for every word he speaks is valuable to me. Every word he speaks is full of the wisdom that he had learned throughout his ninety-three years of life. His memories that he speaks allow me to be grateful in the time period that I live in. But the words that enchanted me the most were his folklore stories. They intrigued me into believing that Ireland was a magical place.