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“The stories were told me, sometimes in Gaelic, sometimes in English. I heard them by peat fires in cottages, I heard them in brown-sailed fishing boats and on rocky mountain sides. They are intertwined in my memory with sunshine, fragrant air and with wide empty spaces, with lakes in Donegal, where the horses of Faery are said to hide themselves, the pools in Connemara, with glittering bays along the sea coast, high mountains in Kerry.” Ella Young (1867-1956) – Celtic Scholar and Collector of Stories While driving in Donegal I saw a lake surrounded by a field of purple heather. It’s beauty beckoned, and I pulled off the narrow grey pavement to walk close enough to touch it or, more likely, to be touched by it. With each step, I felt as if I were walking inside Yeat’s poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,” becoming mesmerized by the low sounds of the lapping water and the sparkle of the ripples picking up a whisper of wind. As the daylight faded into the openings of distant canyons, amongst the crickets song and whir of linnet’s wings, I felt the rhythm of imagined horses galloping past. Could they be the spirits of the mythical horses of Faery brought here from the Mideast by the Tuatha De Danaan tribe thousands of years ago? Legend has it that the tribe was defeated by Eire’s final conquerors, the sons of Mil, during the heroic age of warrior kings. The peace agreement awarded the sons of Mil the upper earth, while the De Danann received the lower reaches of the earth and sea. The inhabitants of the lower reaches later became known as fairies, or Sidhe, and were believed to live in subterranean palaces that glittered with rare jewels embedded in walls of pure gold. The Faery host are said to ride out from time to time from beneath the ground on horseback, sometimes in full regalia, announcing themselves with regal horns. Perhaps they were riding this evening, emerging from the place where horses of faery hide.