Pot of Gold
Clouds dapple with sunlight in the meadow. A scintillating rainbow glows to life and reaches overhead, seemingly touching down at the far end. The two boys confer at the near edge and then break apart. Both are holding cell phones and one dials a number. Oddly enough, it appears to be his friend that answers, only a few paces away. That one begins jogging, holding the cell phone to his ear. His strides are awkward, probably because he is screwing his eyes shut as he runs.
“Eejits! Sure, and won’t they ever learn?”
Sorry! When I get annoyed I tend to revert back to the mother tongue. Two hundred years out of Ireland and you’d think I’d lose the accent, right? Nah, all it takes is a boyo putting on a holy show and I’m right back there. So, let’s back up, deep breath and all that, and I’ll start over.
I’m a leprechaun.
(And yes, I live in America. Medford, Oregon, to be precise, and it is the Year of Our Lord 2012. I moved here in 1803 after bonny Robert Emmet was hung, drawn, and quartered for believing in freedom for Ireland. Aye, sprites follow your human politics and have sympathies one way or t’other. So Robert was all in favor of your Revolution and it got me thinking. Éire was simply getting crowded and the lads said we were either for or agin ya. It didn’t take much to move me, to be honest, and I’ve been here ever since. Did you think even the Wee Folk could resist the lure of Manifest Destiny?)
Now it’s been raining off and on all morning, so we have ourselves a rainbow. And just what do we find at the end of said polychromatic refraction of sunlight through water droplets?
A Pot ‘o Gold!