Gypsy Dream - I had a dream of gypsies, we were gathered by a bonfire encircling it, the smoke spiraling upwards as if to stab at heaven.  We sang the songs of the old days, the old ways, tunes of magic and love, wanderers and wars, things forgotten, things remembered, of dreams and drinking.  We passed a goblet of red wine, brewed by our own hands, none finer could be found in any land, made only for nights such as these.  The goblet is passed from hand to hand, each one of us taking a sip, making a promise to the fellowship.  Promises of love, friendship, loyalty, protection, nurturing, understanding, and should the need arise, of vengeance.  We were one and many, a family in the truest sense, all the promises felt but never spoken, spoken here.  The goblet travels through the circle, this time with a dagger, the crimson of our blood melding with the scarlet of the wine.  After all have given, it's passed around once more, each shares the blood of all the others, and a fever passes through us. We fall, every one, asleep around the fire, and a voice whispers, "Never forget this night."
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-Moon Sidhe © 1998