WITCHY WOMAN

An abstract image and the scent of the fragrance she wore carried to me on the breeze, conjured up the memory of her in my mind. She would pick up on this, wherever she was. I can’t tell you how she did it, but as sure as night follows day, she would make her presence felt again. Like a hawk locked on target, she would swoop in and try to reign the wind. She would attempt to force the river back on itself; make time alter its course. The stage was set, and I was up for the challenge, come what may. Life has a funny way of reminding you of what you long to forget, but need to learn. I felt my temples throb and my eye twitch. There she stood. Shimmered, flickered for a moment, sighed, and then swooped in for the kill,...
I asked her if she saved any of my letters. She said she had them all; that they were in every room, like potpourri for her soul. I imagined my letters to her in so many decorative bowls and cute baskets; on the back of the toilet, handy in times of need or in cases of emergency.
She pulled an ancient note from her inside pocket. It was one of the first I had written her. Without unfolding it or averting her gaze, she began chanting the words without falter; her voice a delicious smokey whisper that felt like gold dusted moth wings drumming around my ears. She was using her best spells on me, assaulting my senses with her charms. We’d walked this garden path before. She continued to confuse me with talk of past roses. As I woke up and smelled them, I broke the spell by reaching into my inside pocket, handing her 13 thorns, and piercing the illusions. I made my mind blank and mentally thanked her for the memories. She flickered a moment, and then was gone. The past has a funny way of surfacing when you least expect it to. A deep, prophetic breath, inhaling the breeze, affirming your future.