The old stories are often the best and
by the best I mean the scariest. One of the most terrifying creatures of Celtic
folklore is the Kelpie or Water Horse. It
comes trotting up to you, all My Little Pony, tossing its long mane and floppy
forelock – however! Should you be so foolish as to mount it, its eyes flame,
you find you are stuck to its back with no escape, and it leaps into the
nearest stretch of water where it will eat you.
This is a true story told to me by a
friend who lived for a time on Skye.
Cailpeach
The
horse is white, not grey. Not
a
runaway from a field. Nobody here or hereabouts
owns
a white horse.
What’s
more, your dog, the Kerry Blue,
is
doing what dogs do when they chance
on
the uncanny,
standing
motionless and staring
at
the shore where Saint Columba
made
his landing.
This
horse is whiter than any dove,
so
bright it stings your eyes
like
salt,
sears
itself into your mind,
drags
your hesitant feet
towards
the brooding Sound,
as
it surges over shingle, rocky skerries,
vanishing
behind sheer cliffs,
reappearing.
When
you reach the tideline
the
beast will be gone.
You’ll
see no hoof prints in the sand
and
you’ll question the memory of a horse,
dreamt
from spindrift,
beating
its ancient bounds,
even
as your dog
explores
and sniffs, barks for you
to
throw her sticks.
© Deborah Harvey 2014
This poem is from my new collection, Map Reading for Beginners, which is published tomorrow by Indigo Dreams and available from them, Amazon if you must, and all good independent bookshops ... or from me personally at the launch in Bristol on 26th September. It would be good to see you there!
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