Here lives a sorceress. After a fierce storm on the day of her arrival, she ventured forth at midnight to scatter gems onto the barren ground. Out of her pocket came two tiny silver bells to whose sound she danced over the stones. Neighbourhood cats gathered attentively around the yard, their eyes reflecting her pale moonlit robes. When she returned inside, a girl wiped her muddied feet with a warm cloth dipped in lavender water. Scissors glistened in the candlelight, cutting clean the tresses that the sorceress had grown the previous year. These were knotted into a platinum braid, and placed inside the cloth. The small bundle was set alight outside the door, perfuming the street. Side by side in the dark, the two women whispered a prayer before retreating to bed. The shorn hair was as soft as newborn plumage on the girl’s belly and breasts. Strolling by, I noticed the sun paying special homage to this plot of land. Nowhere else did the plants glisten and embrace so ardently; the air blushing with magic.
