Come in, come in, the river mist will be gone soon enough, but here you’ll find some tales, some warmth so make yourself comfortable. There’s tea in the pot, or perchance, you brought some wee dram of your own.
Please sit by the window, you’ll have the best view, and easy hearing. Ignore the cats, no matter what they say, and don’t open the window for the tapping crows.
I’ll be working at the table in the corner, if you have any need, or she knocks upon the door. And until you stop by again, may your wonderings be bold and your imaginings be wise.
Until your next visit, until the next photograph, the next 12-line story, good fortune and safe wanderings.
“Grandfather, come, come, they’ve arrived,” said Sinead, leaving the heavy oak door open as she rushed outside of the weathered farmhouse, cold air sneaking in.
Rising from his chair tucked close under the thick-footed kitchen table, ignoring the cluttered remains of breakfast, Harold McEnnvard smiled, deciding he would attend upon his granddaughter with all due solemnity.
The youngest of his five grandchildren, Sinead was a whimsical creature in much need of schooling but being a brilliant mid winter day, Harold felt he should encourage her untethered imagination.
With her blood racing, Sinead moved from side to side, running ahead, turning back, she knew with a deep conviction that her plea, sent aloft during the last full moon, had been answered.
She knew even her stoic grandfather must believe the stories the river woman, as Sinead called her, had been spinning around the questions asked of her.
And now Sinead had proof.
Reassuring herself that it was still there, Sinead turned once more, looking for her grandfather, who with his familiar and long accepted aches, was making his slow progress across the dooryard towards the west side of the sagging barn.
Sinead stood tall, one eye upon her discovery, one eye upon the approach of her beloved grandfather.
As Harold took the final step bringing him close enough to see, Sinead pointed towards her discovery, without offering a word.
Another shuffling step and the crinkled faced man halted, giving his full attention to the small door high upon the side of the barn.
“That’s one fine door you built Sinead.”
“I didn’t make the door grandfather, don’t you see, they’ve come, to help, they’ve come just as I asked, so we can stay here, you’ll see,” said Sinead hoping she would soon be speaking with the house elves herself.