the enchantment of the evening sea

Last night we saw Tir na nÓg. Across the water from where we stood, an ordinary old island lay beyond a luminous cloud of white rain - shadowy, overwhelmed by light, by storm. As the rain gradually eased, the island emerged in faded colours of hill and dream. Its woods were the colour of fire. The island had shape-shifted; it had become the blessed realm on the other wise of the world.

Then the crown of the island began to glow golden, as if lit from within. I wished I was there - and yet I knew there would be no magic if I was there. Magic like this only happens on a far shore. You see it at a distance, in a twilight, over a sea gone silver with the rising moon.

Now I am at home, and the world outside my door is rose-coloured and quiet. As I look out, its easy to believe that ordinariness doesn't really exist. It is just stone and trickwork, piled up to look like houses and shops. The truth is behind the light, inside the storm.

I wonder if faeries believe in us? 

(Yes, I was supposed to write the other side of the world. But when I saw the error I thought it actually made better sense.)


  1. A perfect title for a perfect scene setting.

  2. So so lovely. I feel dreamy reading your words. And I do believe in magic.


  3. Lovely muted shades in your images, with a delightfully magical mystical tale.
    Faeries believe in us.. if we believe in them, which I happily do.

  4. maybe we only see each other when we both believe?

  5. Oh my goodness. That ocean. <3 <3 <3