Leprechaun

“Do you see it?” I’d asked excitedly. “See what, the birdhouse?” my husband answered. “No!” I’d said, all the more excited now to put it into words, “Don’t you see the sun rays, the mist on the ground and the rainbow through the cottage?” I smiled, my most triumphant smile, and said, “We have found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow!”

My husband took a deep breath or two and looked solidly into my eyes. He said, “Sweetheart you are being dramatic. This is not a home of a Leprechaun.” “Why not?” I persistently queried and he said, “I’m not sure the birdhouse is of Irish design. There’s no thatched roof and no hint of Celtic ornament for that matter.”

It was my husband’s turn to smile triumphantly, and he added, “It is a birdhouse, without mystery.” I tend not to give up so easily and readily retorted, “I see how the little people get into their homes and disappear from our sight.” “How so?” my husband asked. I smiled more patiently and said, “They are shapeshifters, able to stand as tall as average people. When they come home they grip the edge of the foundation and return to their miniature size.”

My husband smiled his special smile, the one he uses when he is humouring me, and said, “Can we continue our walk? I’m sure there are a lot more pictures you will want to take.” I raised my brows and considered arguing my point more, however, the lure of capturing more fantastic sights got the best of me! We strolled away and my thoughts were taken away the pot of gold.

© Zora Zebic 2016

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