The fairy folk, once here or there,
would dance about without a care.
But also looking for some gold,
at least that’s what I had been told.
Abundant things they did arrange
with talents that were passing strange,
but dancing at a languid pace
they vanished, leaving not a trace.
Don Nigroni is a retired labor economist and volunteer Weed Warrior at the John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge.
“Bargaining with the Sidhe is dangerous. They can’t be trusted!”
I ignored her.
“I want to live forever,” I told them.
“Then we’ll give you a form that will last through eternity,” they replied.
Now I stand here in the circle, one stone among many, watching the aeons drift past.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. As he rises to the top of his profession, he awaits with morbid curiosity his inevitable fall from grace.
Jars of lights filled the Big Top. Hanging from the ceiling, they were an illusion in themselves: no wires, no batteries.
The noise from the Ringmaster was too loud; no one heard the knocking.
If anyone looked closer—as close as they could—they’d see small, tearful faces peering down.
Ellie is a twenty-year-old student who still believes in magic.
In the end nothing would remain. Faerie and all it had ever been would now seep into the soil and the streams, filtering down over rocks into the villages below.
Its ether would become something foreign to men. They would call it imagination, but we would always call it magic.
David recently won a competition and then another and now he’s gonna be a Dad… He needs a drink.