The Witch & the Raven: A Little Witch Tale
“When it comes to wishes, we either keep them and care for them, talk to them and learn from them. Or, we set them free.”
Once upon a dark moon, a child was born. This was ages ago, back when fable and laughter marked the pages of time instead of numbers and order. While the new mother slept, the night gods cooed over the raven-haired child and tucked blessings into her tiny fist. As the legends go, any child born beneath a dark moon was also a child of the night gods.
Alongside her family, the girl born beneath the dark moon lived a happy life. Nested by the sea, she swam and surfed and learned the names of rainbow-colored corals. When she grew tired of the water, she turned to the woods and climbed their trees, declaring their canopy her temple. For many years, the garden and her imagination were her favorite teachers.
Yet, perhaps because she was the youngest of three sisters, all of whom inherited their mother's inky mane and sharp, watchful eyes, the girl born beneath the dark moon became curious and restless with wonder.
The girl had yet to learn that, even without numbers and order - time reveals all things. Time highlights our successes and struggles, our secrets, and the what-ifs that bloom and die back in the gardens of life. No matter the path we choose, life is full of yearnings, and sometimes, we wonder - what if?
Even when they feel belated, lessons are timely, and this one arrived one summer night after the girl snuffed out her candles and crawled into bed. The walls in the family home were thin, and the girl born beneath the dark moon overheard her mother's conversation with the night gods. Her mother recalled a dream where she sprouted wings and flew far from her everyday tides. She soared across deserts and scavenged in great forests, and when she grew weary, she made a nest atop the moon. In the dream, her mother was not a woman but a bird.
From the safety of her bed, the girl born beneath the dark moon danced with her mother's dream and eventually fell into her own. Her two eyes closed, another opened, and a stain spread across her tongue:
No longer tethered to the earth, what will I find in the land of the birds?
The gods are always listening, don't you know? And the ones who roam after dark rarely deny our wants. The shadowy spirits captured the girl's query as it tumbled toward the sea. They put it in a jar, added some seawater and sand, and shook the potion until a familiar prayer materialized in the storm – what if?
"Birds are more often messengers than magicians," Little Witch observed from her editor's nook, a fort built from blankets and quilts and held together with a few yards of string.
Madam Spider waved away the interruption. "Says the witch who has no feathers or beak or talons OR –" An explosion of pillows flung the spider into the air, her second interruption in minutes. A furry face materialized beneath the wreckage. Little Witch smothered a giggle, and her familiar purred an apology.
Last week, Little Witch began designing an editor's nook when Mother donated some of her old curtain tassels. Little Witch strung the red tassels in the nook's doorway and black tassels across the roof. She attached white tassels with golden flecks to some string and strung it across the fort's interior, making sure it crossed and crossed as many times as possible. When she was finished, Little Witch laid down in her nest of pillows and looked up. A homemade night sky gazed back. The stars in the editor's nook didn't shimmer precisely like the stars in her backyard, but Little Witch thought they were just as inspiring.
"Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly," said Madam Spider the first night they spent stargazing.
Little Witch glanced at her grimoire, which was dutifully writing down Madam Spider's latest poetic morsel.
"No need to flatter me, that was Langston Hughes," the spider said. "Do you know why birds can fly and we can't?"
Knowing her mentor would not be impressed by any mention of hollow bones and wings, Little Witch shook her head.
"Because they have perfect faith! And to have faith is to have wings!" Madam Spider pointed her scepter at one of the fairies. The fairy blushed. "J.M. Barrie," she said before Little Witch could ask for the author.
Like Little Witch and the rest of her coven, Persephone loved the tassel fort, perhaps more than the others, because this was the third time she'd catapulted someone into the air while trying to capture a dancing star.
Madam Spider floated down from the starry canopy and landed atop Persephone's head. She whispered something into the feline's ear. A few licks of her paw later, Persephone yawned, then mewed a response.
"Indeed! She DOES sing!" Madam Spider cackled before skating across the cat's head onto a silken thread. She expertly walked the tightrope onto a new pillow perch and gave Persephone a look that said, behave. She reopened her notebook, cleared her throat, and turned back to Little Witch. "The furry one reminded me that although you have no feathers, no beak, and no talons," she emphasized each 'no.' "You are blessed with the gift of song," Madam Spider scanned the page, looking for where she'd left off in her story. "So perhaps you do know a thing or two about the virtues of birds."
