Luck o' the Irish SPD Blogfest!!!
I found this picture years ago online. Sadly, I did not take it.
Ah, St. Patrick's Day. The day when I can be as Irish as I like and no one looks at me like I'm a freak...every other day, well, that's another story...
Colene Murphy is hosting this brilliant fest! Mozy on over to her place and check out the other entries. I'll be reading as the day goes by (and probably into tomorrow...my Internet is being LAZY!) Enjoy! And drink some Guinness...it's good for you :D
It hasn't always been this way. Once upon a time, people welcomed death. Now, they fear it. Every year they shirk the cemeteries, rush past without even a glance at those who rest. "Cast a cold eye on life," Yeats said. Seems to me they're doing just fine in that respect.
Life, death, it's all the same to them. They hover about their jobs, rushing home to sit in front of the telly, drink a pint, get lost in their problems. They think if they don't contemplate it, they can escape it. But they can't. No one can. Death comes for them all.
I should know. One year ago, he came for me, a rider dressed in black. He called my name and I, not knowing the old stories, followed him to the lonely hill on which I now sit. It was St. Patrick's Day, I remember it well. I'd been partying with friends, having a few laughs, tossing coins off the Haypenny Bridge. I'd never really been a part of the crowd, but they tolerated me, enjoyed my company and I there's.
After the party was over and the pints were dry, I walked home but for some reason, I left the road and went up through the fields. A light rain began to fall and I found myself being led by a horseman to a low, moonlit hill. That's when I heard her, the wailing of the ban sidhe. That's when I realized it wasn't that she called you to die, she called you to another type of life.
Now here I wait, wait for another on this St. Patrick's Day to be lead by the horseman, always on his hunt. And when they arrive, I'll cry for them, I'll wail and I'll sing them into eternity.