Brave Against the Sky
Brave against the sky I ride, weaving through the densely clustered clouds, with my unhinged cries akin to lightning strikes; fierce the timbre and zealous the echo to earth! My shrieks have all the aggression of impassioned Hekate! Her fury is my own! My wild eyes are bright and ruthless. My broom is a weapon of speed, carving new shapes and debonair spirals in the pitch expanse of the heavens. My energy is akin to thunder in its bravado and immensity. My gnarled hands grip like tenacious pincers on the staff, like a crab’s determined claw that won’t let go. Raucous is my path and temerarious my style. My heart is a bravely beating drum!
Through the rainbow arch and the pregnant clouds I race. Speed is the sweet elixir that satitates my being! The dark clusters of cloud are alive with flecks of rain, the spittle of the gods, with sundry bits of hail deflecting off my skin, like expectorated shards of diamond from the caves of night, like bits of broken teeth. I take the route over the ruins and to the great henge. I can see the green expanse below, the rocks jutting up like teeth, gratifying my wicked vision and calling from the belly of the earth with overwhelming magnetism, as sundry sprites of the air whisk along side me, intoxicated with my devilish dash and my thrilling expletives…
I dive in grim abandon, plummeting hundreds of metres in a flash, dropping like a stone, plunging earthward like a dropped canon ball. I pull upwards with a mad thrust and the broomstick lurches to a halt. I plant my boots on the ground. I wipe the collected frost and debris of the skies from my person and sidle up to the shrine. The other witches are there already, standing in unified reverie in front of the gargoyles and the carvings and the arrangements of wooden totems that represent the gods of the forest and the underworld. They laugh at my approach and welcome me to their perverted clique. I drop all recollection of shame and inhibition and participate readily in the flow of wild dancing. The musicians are many, zestful in their movements, playing zithers and drums and improvised instruments made from hollowed out shells and dried vegetables.
