Thursday, July 30, 2015

In Celebration of Lughnasadh

STORIES FROM CELTIC WONDER TALES by Ella Young
Photograph by Denise Sallee
© Denise Sallee 2010

(1910 )
from the tale  THE COMING OF LUGH

The Spear was in the lake then. Great clouds of steam rose about it from the black water. Out of the hissing steam Demons of the Air were born. The Demons were great and terrible. There was an icy wind about them. They found their way into Ireland. They took prey there in spite of the De Danaans. They made broad tracks for themselves. The Fomor followed in their tracks. It was then that misfortune came to the De Danaans. The people of the Fomor got the better of the De Danaans. They took the Cauldron of Plenty and the Magic Harp from the Dagda. They made themselves lords and hard rulers over the De Danaans, and they laid Ireland under tribute. They were taking tribute out of it ever and again till Lugh Lauve Fauda came. 'Twas he that broke the power of the Fomor and sent the three sons of Dana for the Spear. They had power to draw it out of the lake. They gave it to Lugh, and it is with him it is now, and 'tis he will set it up again in the middle of Ireland before the end of the world.




 At the Gates of Dawn: A Collection of Writings by Ella Young. Edited by John Matthews & Denise Sallee 

Friday, July 24, 2015

Friday, July 17, 2015

Returning

Photo by Nuala McNulty. Image by Denise Sallee. 
© Denise Sallee 2015
Ella Young is a character in a novel I am writing. It is very exciting to bring her to life in this way. She has influenced my life in so many ways over the last eight years, not least of all by sending me off to live in Ireland for one very precious year.

I no longer live in an old stone cottage on a hill in North Leitrim. Instead, I find myself in a cozy space on a hill in California where the Pacific Ocean stretches before me to the west and to the south the Santa Lucia Mountains roll down to Big Sur.

Hawks and vultures circle above me like dark shadows against the blue sky. Tall pines stand sentry as they sing their ancient songs, their highest branches nodding to me as I walk among the quail and the rabbits and tall grasses of my meadow.

After a life time as a nomad is it possible to grow roots? Do they even want to find a home here?

Sometimes life hands you circumstances that leave you with little room for negotiation. Responsibilities finally outweigh the dream chasing. And perhaps, when the chasing has ceased, there is time to sort through what remains and hold close that which has always been the constant - the unwavering - yearning of my soul.