Men from all over would walk for miles just to listen to Patrick’s tales. Buy him a pint of ale and he’d tell a good story. But on a special day, his tale was different.
“I heard the wail of the banshee, but I knew it wasn’t calling for me. Such an eerie wail – so sad – so shrill. Fairies had been coming into my dreams telling me about a certain leprechaun they all hated. Every night it was the same dream. Until, one night they told me where and how to find me a pot of gold. Aye, it was just a dream, I’d say to meself, but then, why not look? So off to the lake I went, and true to the fairy dream, there was an old tree with roots partially in the water and a rabbit hole within the roots.
“I had to climb into the dreaded water to peek in and pull out the pot of wonderful gold – bright, shiny gold. I quickly climbed onto the bank, fearing the dangerous waters and with gold in me hands, I sat till I could catch me breath. But suddenly a beautiful woman appeared to my right, just sitting on the bank with her legs below the water surface. I just knew it were a kelpie. Frightened was I. Right then, holding the pot of gold, I felt the leprechaun sneak up behind me. At the same time, the beautiful woman changed, whinnied and leapt at me with horse teeth gleaming. I quickly grabbed the leprechaun and threw him at her.
“The banshee’s no longer wailing.”
Challenge Statement: Write a story (fiction or non-fiction) or a poem about Ireland, St. Patrick, the Irish, or the Wearing of the Green.*****