The Shanahee

IF YOU STAND beside the big Oak tree early in the morning, and wait for the warm fingers of the sun to lift the mist from the valley floor, you will see the place where I was born.

So long ago, that people forget that there was such a time.

It was a day like any other, the warm sun creating little wisps of moist air, reflecting all the colours of the world around the cottage as I took my first breath.

It was also the day, my mother told me, the fairies came.

They laid their hands on my head and said that I was blessed, and I would keep their history in my head and tell it wherever I was to travel.

So gather round, listen, for I am

Note: All the stories are the vivid imagination of the writer.