Little Witch

Little Witch Stripping bare; she sits amongst the willow. The branches lightly scratch her skin. The night had been long. To lay waiting for a dream, is a task that can be harrowing. Dreams simply are, they do not bend to the fancies of man. Will and intent. Bound within ritual. Her eyes rest upon the mossy earth. Tangles of soft green under her feet. Moonlit air reaches her nostrils, filling her lungs with worldly fragrance. She is close to the earth. The earth whispers her name. The pines shake as West wind blows through their needles. Trees scent the air adding magic to mirth. She is smiling, giddy, she has said the words; danced the dance. Fog rises from the dirt and grass. Standing she let's the ethereal mist caress her skin. Moisture glistens and she begins to move. Her limbs fluid to a song that only a soul can hear. Earthen beats, the sound heard within her heart, mimic those of life around her. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Deer, bear, and owl stir. Their blood in trance to the song of her body. Their hearts in sync with the mother that slumbers. "Oh woman, let your primal sweat moisten the roots that burrow deep within dirt. Move and breathe, and I will rise. Call upon the fire, I will bring the water, the wind will heed the call. I will wake and reveal my secrets. I will ground your feet and bless your hands." Kenneth Kerry. For the one who is more than an image. More than an essay. More than.