little green

Sometimes, a witch just doesn’t want to brew,although perfectly at home over an iron pot . The wooden spoon stained with all the soups and potions, the stirring to the cycle, or to widdershins, to heat or to cool Sometimes she knows what to do, but would rather watch out into the woods, the still very cold woods, though June is close. The trees are afraid, she knows that, she could tell you that much, anyway, but don’t expect a cup of tea with that particular information. She’s getting a little afraid herself, so there is no time to brew and steep, she is watching. The Beth Root was up on time, that was a good sign, deep maroon and beautiful.