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One of my most magical memories is of the enchanted island of Inishbofin. It was late--nearly eleven at night--but the sun was just dipping into the ocean. I sat at a picnic table outside the pub surrounded by islanders, sipping a Guinness and watching the clouds edge with pink. A handful of children kicked a soccer ball around, chasing each other through the rutted streets.
The call of the sea was strong that night, a restless luring whisper of magical things to come. If I'd known what I know now, I would have gone down to the beach on that enchanted solstice eve. I would have hidden behind the rocks and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of the selkies casting their summer spells.
But perhaps, somehow, I knew deep down they were there. Even if I could not see them. I felt their magic. I knew they existed. And I believed. I think that night the selkies cast a spell on me--a powerful, dream-come-true spell. That one day I would be an author. That strangers would read my stories. That they would ask for more.
I hope I can return one day to that beach and thank them. For sharing their fairy tale, for letting me tell their stories. I would bring a handful of rose petals, and sprinkle them into the waves. And whisper words in Gaelic. That only they would understand.
On this glorious eve of the first day of summer, I ask only this... What is your most magical memory?