Isle of Skye

she pointed into the glow
of light and golden mist
and we touched —
faces kissed by the sun
across the moors we ran.
she’d come by birlinn
and as the witching mist blew clear
we saw it bobbing in the harbor below
bucking anchor in a stone chop sea
we were on a journey to the Otherworld
the land of Aos Sidhe
the Isle of Skye
up on a ridge it shimmered
nestled in heathered tors,
the silver surface of tobar
as sacred as the sunrise
we drank deep its emerald waters
and felt the soothing cool within,
healing us in spirit and soul.
the day became as bright as the sun on water
and night never fell
— — —
Aos Sidhe: the faerie folk who often choose to remain unseen
Birlinn: a wooden sailing vessel in the Hebrides
Otherworld: a parallel world existing beyond time
Tobar: a well or spring in the Highlands reputed to have healing powers
For more of the Otherworld, faerie cattle, and blue men, take a look at Poacher’s Pilgrimage by Alastair McIntosh.






