The Witches of Burn Moore

[nh-art]

The green river

[witchesofburnmoore-blog]

B.A. in Witchcraft minor in Vitality Studies

Were this a story of voyage and return, I would currently be firmly rooted in the, “return”. Back to the drab city with it’s smells and aggression. Back to having space to dream. Back the eternal battle of what to share with others and what to hide. It’s still a time when witches are persecuted. Just having magical powers is not reason enough to share it with others...the world has worked to turn us against one another. They’ve convinced us there aren’t enough resources. Perhaps it is so. I’m not to tired to grow. Remembering always: As above, so below. 

[witchesofburnmoore-blog]

Rot

It started with a punch to the face. Many, in fact. I don’t remember the exact amount as I learned, on that occasion, that I do not suddenly come to life like a strong superhero, jolted to the occasion with drawn fists and a quick and furious response. Instead I cower, curling up like a soft armadillo, trying both to protect myself as well as shrink into nothing. What began was a confused era of hope, what ended was the capacity of my mind, body and heart as I had come to know them. He never hit me again, I didn’t give him or any other man that opportunity.