Ryan Performs in Places: Witches and Leaves

The forest smelt of spice and moisture settled on fallen leaves. The air filled with the murky dusk which settled like an ominous force upon the earth. All around were the noises of nature created a perfect harmony with the song which drifted on the evening wind. Drop, drop...a gentle rain cried upon the layer of mud and leaves, and over in the tallest tree sat a lone mourning dove whose throat gurgled in sadness. The birch trees showed their thick, white skins, radiating the reflected light from the cloudy atmosphere. In an act of surrender, the trees reached their branches to the sky. Along their bases drifted the misty lights of several fireflies in a vain attempt to illuminate the dusk.

From the darkness, the witches emerged to play. Their tiny feet pranced and trampled atop the matted forest floor, dancing between and around the trees, smacking the trunks with their calloused and withered hands. The slaps extended in the cold air to reverberate above the dark arms of the sky. It was a gathering, a nightly meeting consisting of numerous witches whose cries of joy and celebration filled the air. Their skin was several shades of green and brown, and they were covered in warts. Their grey hair flew up in fading locks around the brims of their pointed, crumpled black hats.

All at once, their singing grew into a chorus which shrieked over all the trees and the hillocks and the noises of the forest. Each yellowed smile of the witches joined into the jubilee, making the ruckus into a party. They danced closer to a dilapidated cabin which was overgrown in underbrush and forestation. It was very small, maybe no bigger than a closet or a doghouse, but it had a tiny window and a shingled roof which made it almost homey. The witches moved closer, sniffing the air and embracing the dusk. Each holding the hands of her nearest sister, the witches formed a circle around the cabin.

One of the hags stepped forward and grasped into the inner blackness of the cabin. With a grunt and wrench of her poor old arms, the witch pulled an enormous black cauldron from the depths of the cabin. Together, the witches brought the cauldron into a nearby clearing as the sky grew darker. One of the sisters bent down beneath the cauldron and exhaled upon the molding leaves upon the ground. Slowly the leaves dried and sparked so that the fire burned heavily to heat the cauldron.

As the firestarter stepped back in to the circle, another came forward placed her hands above the cauldron. A pool of green liquid began to form at the base of the cauldron, bubbling and boiling upwards until in was level with the brim. The witches cheered as the fireflies circled overhead, dancing and mingling the sparks from the fire so that they seemed one and the same. Bluish-green smoke rose of the hot liquid and curled to meet the tree branches. The witches were pleased with their work, and raised their arms in appreciation of the night, of life, and of creation. With a sweep of their arms, all of it disappeared. They vanished, and all that was left were the trees and the noises of the night.

Peace out!