Startled by the sudden appearance, Fr. Kevin jumped up, spilling the rest of the latte across the grass.  "What in the hell...who are you?  What are you doing sneaking around my damn bushes?"

         "Not much in the way of hospitality, lad, considering you be a man of the cloth." remarked the little man.  He was oddly dressed in light green pants and a jade colored jacket tied with a bit of twine.  Most unusual, he wore what appeared to be an over sized acorn cap upon his head.

           As he took in the "gentleman's " appearance, he began to consider the thought that maybe he was possibly hallucinating, as tiny people did not normally fly out of one's hedges.  He regretted the second joint, and wondered if he would shortly need medical supervision.  He felt his heart racing, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.  If he ended up in the ER he could kiss this position goodbye, along with any possibilities for the future.

           Positioning himself comfortably on a small boulder, the tiny man sighed.  "I must admit, I expected a bit more from Margaret's lad.  But in these ages, one learns to make due."

          "Look...I don't know who you are.  I'm not even sure you're actually real, and not some figment of my drug addled imagination."  Before he could get another word in, the visitor reached over and gave Fr. Kevin's upper arm a sharp pinch.  "Hey, that hurt!

           The man chuckled, "Figments surely don't leave bruises.  He made himself more comfortable, and went on.  " It saddens me to find that you remember so little of Margaret's tales.  Herself was a lively lassie, very special to the sidhe.  We miss her greatly, " he whispered.

            At that moment, it dawned with glaring clarity that the man was referring to Margaret O'Brien, his mother's mother, and his beloved "Granny".  She had been gone now for nearly 20 years, passing on when Fr. Kevin was 10.  In his mind's eye, he could picture his Granny and he as they worked together in the kitchen, filling his young heart with stories from the Old Country.  He felt a chill run down his spine, and narrowed his eyes at the small figure on the boulder.  "You don't expect me to believe that I am sitting here talking to a wee person...fairy folk?  Those were just old tales, make believe told to a lonely kid by a nice old lady.  Nothing more.  Fairies, leprechauns and magic?  You got to be kidding me!  What I need right now is a long shower, and a good night's sleep.  By tomorrow morning, this bad reefer moment will be a thing of the past...and so will you!"

           The wee man frowned, and said, "So... you don't believe in things you can't always see?"

           "Well, not exactly, " mumbled Fr. O'Kenney, picking himself off the ground.  And before he could say another word, the tiny figure was gone.