***Disclaimer: timed writing exercise, was given 7 minutes.***
The Season of the Witch
Plucking the soft but thorny green leaves, she looked at the cloudy gray sky-bewitched by all the power it had, tuning rain to thunder, thunder to lightring, and lighthing back to clouds. The purple mist followed, her long black boots barely making a sound. The bumblebees flew away, as the raven called to the stars, “this is my home” she beckoned, throwing the ivy into a pot. “This is my home, forever and always, Balance is never equilibrium. Balance is the power she holds. She who can control when the earth quakes, she who possesses magic. The thorny green leaves stay nestled in the her black hat, she holds them in her palm, one by one, blowing them into the fog. I am Mother Earth. Mother Earth is you. Earth is we and earth is us.
