I spend hours waiting with the wind,
I know he’s in there. I heard him—
The tap-tap-tapping of his tiny hammer.
He emerges from the hollow of a tree trunk,
Clad in red with his tricornered hat—
Slightly stumbling from a chaotic night,
His leather pouches sway with his steps.
…his bargaining chips…
Charming scenery plays in my periphery,
Sunlight glinting off a billion blades of green—
Distracting optics favouring the leath bhrogan.
My eyes don’t leave him lest he vanish—
A lifetime of bad luck.
I can’t reach the end without him—
A rainbow requires distance to see it.
The arc of colours disappeared a mile ago—
The play of light and weather on vistas,
Dimpled with shamrocks, makes promises
Not even a four-leaf clover could keep.
My captive stops abruptly and confronts me—
Laughing eyes set in a jolly round face
That note my attention to his gold-buckled shoes.
His small, calloused hands offer me a silver shilling—
The one that will return to his pouch after he leaves.
He studies my expression, then offers the gold coin—
The one that will turn to ash.
The air of jollity withdraws from the capricious creature,
Eyeballing me as he lights his smoking pipe—
Glaring at me between exaggerated breaths.
…He’s ready to barter…
I reject his proposition for the tainted three wishes,
He knows I’m going for the gold.
He marks the spot with a red ribbon,
Promising not to move it while I fetch a shovel.
Out the corner of my eye I see the perfect stick—
Thick and sharp enough to fashion a digging tool.
After a slight turn of my head he’s gone,
Leaving me in a field of red ribbons.