The Cat

The cat sits
Stationary on the hill
Dreaming ages past,

Rising wind sounds the Fae
Riding from the sidhe
Harness bells tinkling
Hounds baying
Horns calling, calling
Distantly lost,

The cat blinks
Then yawns lazily stretching
To saunter to his fireside
And home below.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

The ancient tales of Ireland are full of wonders and magic, heroes, Fae folk, and mystical creatures. We are too logical in these modern times to be distracted by these ghosts of our past. Perhaps cats see what we miss and hear what we ignore. At least they always seem to share less than they know. MJG

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