There’s a way that a first time sticks in one’s memory: like my first date or my first visit to an old growth forest. They find a nice warm place in that tangled growth I call my memory. It is a familiar place to revisit. But the second, third, … or umpteenth time I experience something - those memories start blending together. The sharp outlines wear off.
After my first contact with the Sidhe, my piqued curiosity waned, receding to the unkempt parts of my brain. Occasionally this quiescent memory stirred. Perhaps, stimulated by a vague sensation now and again that someone was looking over my shoulder. Whatever was tickling my mind finally stirred me enough that in the fall, I wrote a friend wondering if he had any connections with these Sidhe.
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