The first tiger lily I ever saw was growing through a crack in the seawall at Kilkee. I was eight, barefoot, and furious that the tide had stolen my sand-castle. That orange blaze broke the grey stone like a laugh—petals splayed, freckles darker than my own, stem singed from salt-spray yet alive. My father tried to pluck it for me. I stopped him.
“Anythi…
