Dear Witches

Dear witches,

Haven't you been told

that you don't have to grow your hair past your chest,

nor your nails past the rest.

You don't have to read this book nor that,

nor pay that teacher with half your vat

of your blood, sweat and tears.

And there are no spells to be cast.

You must.

You must.

You must,

though,

sit with the ocean

or run with the trees,

swim through the birdsong,

stay calm with the bees.

For flowers will tickle your feet,

and whispers of recipes will ride in on the breeze.

You'll learn that fears will drown in roaring rivers

and that the devil was wrongly whipping his wife.

And the ocean is all of our fortified tears, including the devil's wife's.

You'll perspire inspiration from the sun.

The moon may wake you at night to remind you of that misdeed in your early years of learning,

but the birdsong will absolve you in the morning.

And if it is 'power over' you are yearning,

it is that which will diminish.

Because to be a witch is truly the most simple:

to live from your heart

and to wholly respect the beauty of Nature's art.

Love,

Woman of the sea