No one was ready for what unfolded under the velvet canopy of the Wexford Spiegeltent Festival that night. The atmosphere was already electric, the kind of energy that hints at something special brewing—but nothing could have prepared the crowd for what was coming. Out of the shadows stepped two icons: Robert Plant, the golden god of Led Zeppelin, and Donovan, the mystical bard of the ’60s. Side by side, they emerged like ghosts from rock history—unexpected, magnetic, and completely real.
The first chord of “Season of the Witch” hit like a lightning bolt. Gasps rippled through the audience. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Phones trembled in hands or were forgotten entirely. What followed wasn’t just a performance—it was a moment suspended in time. Plant’s voice, still thunderous and wild, wrapped itself around Donovan’s eerie, hypnotic delivery, and something ancient and otherworldly seemed to awaken in the room.
The tent became a vessel, holding this impossible moment aloft. People clutched each other in disbelief. Strangers wept. Some stared, stunned, as if afraid to blink and miss it. It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t planned. It was pure instinct, two legends chasing the same current, building something sacred from a single song.
By the time the final notes echoed into silence, the crowd had become something else—a witness to rock alchemy. A secret only those present would ever truly understand. As Plant and Donovan melted back into the shadows, the audience stood frozen, hearts pounding, unable to speak. You could feel it in your bones: this wasn’t just music. It was myth in the making.
One song. One night. A brush with the divine that no one will ever forget—and that no video will ever truly capture. Some magic lives only in the moment. This was one of those
moments.