Celtic Whisper

I recognize her immediately. How do you recognize someone you’ve never met in this lifetime? Maybe I never met her in a past life either. Had we met beyond the veil, somewhere in the spirit world?

For decades, I have walked alone. I have enjoyed solitude. Yet here I stood in disbelief. My spirit was bearing witness with hers. It was as if time had slowed in respect of a destined meeting.

As the shop door eased shut behind me, the chiming bells jarred me back to the present. Time caught up, continuing its ancient blitz.

The smell of coffee, old books, and sweetgrass smoke lightly floated through the shop. Groups of candles sat throughout the room, their flames dancing with the draft my entrance made. Shelves filled the room floor to ceiling. They held colorful jars of herbs, mushrooms, and oddities such as paper wasp nests, feathers, moss, crystals, and old bones.

A single window, with shelving crossing the pane, filtered light through colorful glass bottles. Amethyst, tiger’s eye, labradorite, quartz, chunks of cedarwood, and bundles of white sage were scattered throughout. From a crate of quilts, gold eyes watched me through lazy slits. The feline yawned wide, then drifted off.

A mellow spoken, “Hello, my name is Brigid. Welcome to Celtic Whisper,” pulled my attention back to the shop owner. She stood behind a weathered wood island countertop. Loose herbs were scattered about. Mortar and pestle in hand, she was grinding up a tea mixture.

Wavy auburn hair, shimmering with strands of silver, fell past her shoulders. Age had lightly touched her beautiful face. A touch of something more sinister, a white scar marked her left cheek. Dark blue eyes looked back at me through thick lashes.

She gave me a friendly smile and said, “I know, it’s a lot to take in, but you will learn and navigate this chaos with ease.”

I hesitated. “You must be expecting someone else. I’m not here for a job.”