Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day, and we're all thinking green, in more ways than one. But it seemed appropriate, since we're talking about all things Celtic, to share a true story of the Green Isle.
A friend of mine, a rather well-known author, visited Ireland several years ago, and spent a month traveling the country, visiting all the castles and cottages she could find. She kissed the blarney stone (for which I blame her wonderful career:) and walked the hills, and two days before she left, had a "supernatural" experience she later told me about.
For a few weeks, she'd felt as if she'd been followed every step she took, but there was never a footprint or disturbed piece of grass to indicate there was any truth to it. One day, as she hiked a grassy field toward a stand of trees, she swore she saw movement at the edges of the tree line and it bothered her so much that she changed direction and moved, instead, toward a small cottage nearby.
The cottage stood empty, the door open, and very little furniture inside. She knocked several times before entering. The room was dusty, a rough table and two chairs, one with a broken leg, and windows with no glass. But on the kitchen counter, just in that open window, sat a fresh cherry pie and one fork. Nothing else in the entire kitchen, just the pie.
All right. I have to tell you she ate some of the pie, and stayed in the cottage for an hour or two, and when she came back to the place she was staying, she sat down and wrote one of her best novels. And she still loves cherry pie.
I love cherry pie, too, by the way, and we have some here if you'd like a slice.
Is there magic in Ireland? You bet. There are faeries and brownies and elves and so many other creatures of legend and myth, so many stories to tell and wishes to wish. Imagine the Emerald Isle and let your imagination roam....