Jauquiene's Page

One day O'er a hill in Ireland, came riding a Lady so fair, she wore nothing clad upon her cept white roses bound through long hair. It turned cheeks red to behold her, no one dared to stutter or stare. If that weren't enough to imagine. She sat astride an enormous white mare. The women dropped their baskets, the men turned away from their plows. Children stood as still as statues. As Epona rode her mare through the town... Now times had been hard on these people. The ground so tired and dry.. The richest amongst them where skinny. The poor had gone on and died. Amongst the crowd assembled a tiny child stood forth, in her hand, she held a red apple. Ma'am, for your horse... from our land. Epona so touched by the childs' gesture interceded as a goddess shouldn't have, for the benefit of poor mortal man. She spurred her steed to a gallop, hoof beats sounded like thunder so loud....The people ran to home frightened. As lightening struck the parched ground. The heavens above them opened...and at last the rains came down. That fall at the Samhain season...storehouses filled with golden grain. The people remembered the fair maiden, who rode a white mare and bought them the rain....