Halloween

The witch's familiar

Tonight I will just post these pics and a couple of poems, one by M and another by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge.

Old postcards

The Witch

The night was dark and cold and wet and the clouds were racing across the moon , pushed, chased, by a fierce west wind and moving shadows ran across the land revealing a cottage here or an oak tree there and frightening cattle into motionless clusters in their muddy fields and the witch flew high, clinging tight to her besom , intent on her mission , no choice but to do what witches do. No fireside chair tonight. No warm bed or comfort. Cold, old, ageless face, black eyes seeking a guiding mark momentarily lit by the teasing orb, only witness to her pain, of the tears torn away by her flight, of the soundless cry of her despair.


M




The Witch


I HAVE walked a great while over the snow,
And I am not tall nor strong.
My clothes are wet, and my teeth are set,
And the way was hard and long.
I have wandered over the fruitful earth,
But I never came here before.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
I dare not stand in the blast.
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,
And the worst of death is past.
I am but a little maiden still,
My little white feet are sore.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!

Her voice was the voice that women have,
Who plead for their heart's desire.
She came--she came--and the quivering flame
Sunk and died in the fire.
It never was lit again on my hearth
Since I hurried across the floor,
To lift her over the threshold, and let her in at the door.


Mary Elizabeth Coleridge



I shall write about my sighting of a ghost tomorrow, Samhain, the 1st November, the beginning of Winter.

But it is already nearly midnight so I must bid you goodnight and be away on my besom........

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait