„Ingredient number 5 cooked in a pretty, red pot“, a sweet voice giggles into my ear. „You‘re such a witch.“ ,
I make a face and pour the strong coffee into my favorite cup. If it makes me a witch to mix it up with milk, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, allspice … have I forgotten something here? Yes, cocoa! Cheers! On finding a cozy feeling at the bottom of this cup!
A witch would know where to find it.
Not just the right words for its summoning, and not just the right way to stir the pot for a violet cloud.
A witch would know which tastes would work, which scents would keep a soul from leaking.
She would know which blood to cook, and whose flesh to add.
A witch would know.
And rainy days would taste like apple and cinnamon, and feel like the deepest breath.
Because a witch would know the right color, and recognize the sparkle in just the right moment.
Even in the deepest night, she would know where to look, and would find it even if only with her hands.
This is why the image of the witch stiring her pot, with eyes so otherworldly and words so often misunderstood has become a legend.
A witch knows where to look for what a heart desires.
„All I want is apples and cinnamon when it‘s raining“, I tell my witch, waiting for my magical cup of coffee to take over my soul. “Maybe for autumn my living room needs more orange. Maybe I should cook the first pumpkin before the autumn equinox.”
“Maybe the floor is lava.”
“Maybe.”
“They call this magical thinking”, Layla giggles.
Magical thinking, magical cup of coffee – I need to find some comfort!
… Finding the right taste, and scent and colors when needed is the coziness of witching.
Unloved tale
OnceWhen someone had herShe was almost lovedBut then this someone thought:”I can’t be allShe’d ever known”And he let her go. And She ranShe ran too fastWhen she ranShe ran too far ThenShe was found againBy another strange manWho loved her recklesslyLove turned to painAnd carved his sinInto her skin And she fledShe fled too fastWhen…
Just a haunted girl scaring her friends – Writing update!
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Tale about the softest secret
This tale is about a girl I once knew. This girl could not go anywhere without her lovely white shoes. Made of cotton, their rim did not reach her ankles, giving away how thin they were. Their soles were so slim, she felt the earth with every step. Those shoes she needed so dearly were…
Mistress witch writes 