My thoughts today are in my witching garden.
I don‘t even have a garden, but for some time within the past lockdowns I have helped a friend with his while hiding away in there from everything going on around me, and since my sweat pants radius has grown with each of these times for a few kilometers, I count all the pretty flowers I could find on my walks around the fields as well.
Witches belong into their gardens. They live in houses overgrown by ranks and have their recipes ready to cure all the petty issues desperate strangers pour out of their hearts to them, right?
As with every other stereotype, things are not as simple.
Reading about trials of witchcraft, I realized that it most often were not these wise women or healers who were trialed and executed, but rather individuals falling victim to a believe of an own complexity.
After everything I have found out about witches so far, I still deeply associate them with a garden, but not necessarily with one to gather ingredients for potions and spells from.
Witches were impossible beings, believed to hide among humans and endanger their souls. Witches had grown although they never were supposed to.
They were able to dream of things forbidden in this world and were able to feel things no human would ever be allowed to enjoy.
Witches are the blossoms of Dystopia and I feel close to them whenever I see roses with raindrops on all my Dystopia walks.
A witch with no regrets
This night feels cozy.Midnight has passed.No sleep, but another cup of tea in vanilla scented candlelight.“Are you saying you have no regrets?”, my witch giggles. When I was younger, I was often warned that I would regret the things that I did. I remember being 10 years old and finally telling my family that I…
Heavy rain and zombie fire – A small town of resilience part 2
This is a hopeful post, although it might not look like it at first. Recently, the region I am living in is experiencing a historical wildfire, and it was getting terrifyingly close to the city that gave me a lot of inspiration to write my witching novel. The town is called Monschau, and who is…
What the stars can do to us
“Are you really lucky enough to miss out on a few shooting stars?”, my witch asks as I try to fall asleep. Well, who of us ever is? We had seen 6 very bright shooting stars, but I was getting cold and tired. Can I afford to sleep during the peak of the perseids? I…
Mistress witch writes 