BRENDAN, HIS DAUGHTER, THE HORSES

Back in County Clare, Brendan is visiting the grave of his daughter twice, or three times, a week and receiving from her whatever he requests. And his stories continue of the fairy horses—the ghost horses viewed just there, in that field down the road from where we mounted, in mist, to begin our ride across the Burren.

I do not know Brendan's daughter, even her name, but ask her to help me, too. What harm can it do? Perhaps my request will be answered; but, if not, I will be where I was before. The miracle is this: We have already met everyone we need to know.

s h e i l a   n i c k e r s o n
b e l l i n g h a m ,   w a s h i n g t o n

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