Cover art and all art by George Morland
There is a particular kind of Irish day that folklore scholars know well. The sky is wide and pale, the fields are settled and still, and then… without warning, without cloud or cause, a fist of wind slams through the air. It scatters hay, bends the hawthorn sideways, and is gone as suddenly as it arrived. An ordinary person might mutter about the weather. But an older Irish man or woman would have done something else entirely. They would have taken off their hat, bowed head, and whispered a quiet prayer: God bless them...
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