When first harvest looms, the banshee wails from somewhere before time marked the journey of the seasons.
She sings an old song that spills over a golden sunset, a haunted melody called Forgotten.
I raise my hood and walk westward into Autumn’s arms, unblinking, into my next once upon a time story.
To a place where my new name is like nectar on the tongue of the last dragonfly.
There, the mist is thick with ghosts and the remnants of old words, and I scatter their ashes along the red road.
I hide hope under my cloak where she is safe to grow during what is to come.
The hidden hags thrum their sacred songs as I pass their doorway, and they welcome the unexpected dew with their tattered hands.
The full moon rises and into the first chill of Change and I whisper my greetings to the guardians of that hidden staircase I know so well.
Not yet, I murmur into the blackness. Not just yet…
Photo by Tetyana Kovyrina on Pexels.com
Notes on this piece ~ This writing is from a group of creation prompts as part of Danielle Dulsky’s Witches of the Word membership. For more information on all of her offerings, visit www.thehagschool.com
hedgeandhearth.online 
Leave a comment