The quiet country lane gently rose and fell beneath my footsteps as a cool Irish mist wrapped itself around my head and shoulders like a fine woolen shawl. The autumn colors burst forth from the landscape in nature's last dance of life, a final celebration before winter's thick cloak of frost would blanket the whole of the land in a crystal shimmering veil of lucid white. A gentle breeze whispered my name, or so it seemed. Was she calling to me?

I passed an old man along the way, taking his evening walk, I supposed. He had a special twinkle in his eyes that came from the wisdom of age and the knowledge of the beauty of life. He moved slowly, not from the aches and pains of old bones and joints, but from the awareness that this time is special, a time to be savored. I gave him a nod and a smile, my own acknowledgement to another of the beauty and serenity of the twilight hour. To speak would have broken the spell of silence - a spell we had both welcomed with open arms. When I turned to catch one last glimpse of his soft way, he had vanished.

As I continued on my journey, I passed another old man slowly meandering down the road on his bicycle. He had the same sense of presence as the first, the same twinkle in his eyes. Again, I offered a nod and smile, and again, when I turned to look back, he was gone.

I knew I was very near. I could feel it all around me; I could feel her all around me. Her magic was strong, still strong, even after all these years. No, not even centuries of death could hold the Witch or her magic.

After passing a third old man along the lane, a third gentleman who disappeared into the soft mists, I realized how thin the veil was. These men had not been villagers out for their evening strolls; they were her husbands, each of whom she had outlived. Perhaps they were returning home for one last glimpse before the thickness of the veil returned.

I crossed a tiny bridge over a creek that was bursting beyond its banks from the heavy rains the night before. Was this where she collected water for the boiling of potatoes and meats? Or perhaps these were the healing waters used in her magic blue bottles. Her presence was undeniable and became stronger with each step I took until finally we were not longer separate - her spirit was in me and I was in her spirit.

Just then, off to the right, I spotted a path leading up the hillside. Enough feet had periodically trodden this path to keep the growth trampled down, but not enough to have worn it all away. I turned to walk up the hill knowing I had found what I came for.

As I reached the small clearing on the hillside, I could feel her magic floating on the air, dancing in and out of the open door and windows. All four stone walls of her home still stood and a thick growth of ivy ensured that they would remain standing for centuries to come. One windowsill, blanketed in a thick growth of moss, bore many small gifts from those who had come before - coins of silver and brass, small seashells, a rainbow of crystals, each a token of love and affection and a promise to keep her spirit alive. I reached into my pocket and withdrew my own gifts - a small piece of amethyst and two crystal points. After gently adding them to the collection, I lit a small candle in Brighid's name and placed it on the sill along with all the other offerings. Despite the soft rain and gentle breeze, the candle flamed strong and still and I knew I was part of the magic. It was Samhain and Biddy Early had bid me welcome to her home.