Lá breá samhraidh a bhí ann, fiú i lár an Fhómhair.

It was a fine summer day, even in the middle of autumn.

Chaith Cillian a chóta tiubh agus shuigh sé síos gar don lochán i gCearnóg Stiabhna, áit ar bhain an ghrian taitneamh ar dhuilleoga oráiste agus óir an chrainn.

Cillian shed his thick coat and sat down near the pond in Cearnóg Stiabhna@St. Stephen's Green, where the sun shone on the orange and golden leaves of the trees.

Bhí Cillian ag iarraidh inspioráid a fháil dá shaothar ealaíne.

Cillian was seeking inspiration for his artwork.

Ach bhí folús istigh ina chloigeann, gan fiú smaoineamh nua amháin.

But there was an emptiness inside his head, without a single new thought.

Bhí Maeve ag siúl timpeall na cearnóige, ag faire ar dhaoine, agus bhí súil aici scéal suimiúil a aimsiú lena foilsiú sna laethanta romhainn.

Maeve@Maeve was walking around the square, observing people, hoping to find an interesting story to publish in the coming days.

Bhí an tráthnóna foirfe, ach theastaigh di níos mó ná crainn a fheiceáil.

The afternoon was perfect, but she wanted more than just to see trees.

Bhí sí faoi bhrú chun rud éigin speisialta a aimsiú, rud a lasfadh intinn a léitheoirí.

She was under pressure to find something special, something that would ignite the minds of her readers.

Tháinig sí ar aghaidh Cillian atá ina shuí go ciúin, a phinn luaidhe ina láimh agus bileog pháipéir os a chomhair.

She came across Cillian sitting quietly, a pencil in his hand and a sheet of paper before him.

Bhí sé ag stánadh isteach sa lochán, ach ní raibh a lámh ag gluaiseacht.

He was staring into the pond, but his hand was not moving.

“Dia dhuit,” arsa Maeve go bríomhar, ag briseadh an chiúin.

"Hello," said Maeve cheerfully, breaking the silence.

“Is scéalta atá mé á lorg, ach feictear dom go bhfuil rud éigin spéisiúil ar na páipéir sin agat.”

"I'm looking for stories, but it seems to me there's something interesting on those papers of yours."

D’ardaigh Cillian a cheann, beagán ionadh faoi ghaisce na mná seo.

Cillian raised his head, a bit surprised by the boldness of this woman.

“Dia duit,” arsa sé.

"Hello," he said.

“Tá mé ag iarraidh inspioráid a fháil.”

"I'm trying to find inspiration."

“Ag iarraidh inspioráid?” d’fhiafraigh Maeve, súile ag soilsí leis an dúshlán.

"Trying to find inspiration?" Maeve asked, her eyes lighting up at the challenge.

“Cén saghas inspioráide?”

"What kind of inspiration?"

“Nach bhfuil sé aisteach?” a cheap Cillian amach os ard.

"Isn't it strange?" Cillian thought out loud.

“Is minic a shéideann an gaoth smaointe chugam. Anois? Níl ann ach tost.”

"Often the wind blows thoughts to me. Now? There's only silence."

“Inis dom faoi do chuid smaointe de ghnáth,” arsa Maeve, ag cur aithne níos fearr air.

"Tell me about your usual thoughts," Maeve said, getting to know him better.

Bhí a fhios aici go raibh scéal iontach san áireamh anseo.

She knew there was a great story in the making here.

Labhair siad le chéile faoin saol, faoin ealaín, agus faoi conas a insíonn daoine scéalta.

They talked together about life, about art, and about how people tell stories.

De réir a chéile, bhí Cillian ag éirí níos eolaí ar an titim dathanna agus rithim na bhfocal a bhí ag teacht ó Maeve.

Gradually, Cillian became more aware of the falling colors and the rhythm of the words coming from Maeve.

Shíl sé ar ais go dtí an tuiscint aeistéitiúil, an chruthaitheacht a bhíonn go minic le fáil sna caidrimh agus sa chomhrá, agus thosaigh a lámh ag gluaiseacht arís, ag tabhairt beatha do leathanaigh nua.

He thought back to the aesthetic understanding, the creativity often found in relationships and conversation, and his hand started moving again, bringing new pages to life.

Bhí Maeve thar a bheith sásta.

Maeve was extremely happy.

Fuair sí a scéal agus thuig sí níos fearr an ealaín atá i ngach céim den bheatha, álainn insíonn scéal éigin.

She got her story and understood better the art inherent in every step of life, beautifully telling some story.

Nuair a chríochnaigh Maeve a halt, tá pictiúir Cillian ina chuid dí chomh maith.

When Maeve finished her article, Cillian's pictures were part of it as well.

Bhí an cearnóg sa phictiúr chomh hálainn agus déanann sí dochar don réalaíocht.

The square in the picture was as beautiful as it jeopardizes reality.

Agus fanfaidh an cairdeas nua ina inspioráid do Cillian ar feadh i bhfad ó shin.

And the new friendship would remain an inspiration for Cillian for a long time.

Bhí a fhios aige anois go bhfuil inspioráid le fáil idir daoine, agus anseo, sa pháirc seo, a aimsíodh é.

He now knew that inspiration is found between people, and here, in this park, it was found.

Ní raibh laethanta mar seo chomh simplí, áit a n-athraíonn rudaí go tobann agus athnaítear rud éigin ionat féin agus an domhain.

Days like these weren't so simple, where things change suddenly, and something within yourself and the world is rediscovered.

B'ábhar suimiúil, b'ábhar iontach.

An interesting subject, a wonderful subject.

Agus bhí an Fómhar i nDublin breá anois, lán de scéalta nua a bhí ag fás faoi dhuilleoga órga St. Stephen's Green.

And the autumn in Dublin@Dublin was lovely now, full of new stories growing under the golden leaves of St. Stephen's Green.