My Christmas Witch List

Boudica_Modern_by_quickreaver

I have decided to revisit certain posts from time to time. Call them a Marty-Replay.  Posts I like. Or I’m happy with how they were written and catch the moment just right. Or are particularly relevant even now. But mostly that I like. Here’s the 1st.

Beautiful Boudicca. I wish I could call you mine. But no, I can’t.

When you arrived late to the gathering, I found myself at the other end. Trapped, away from you. I saw you glance my way so many times. And send me smiles and eye missives.

Finally you motioned for me to come to you. It had been over 4 months since I had even seen you or talked to you. And now talk we did. Standing nose to nose for more than 30 minutes, we caught up.

But it was much more than catching up. I saw the repeated flicker of want in your pale blue eyes.  I peered beneath the exterior, glimpsing into your depths.

I have always known of your powers. We are few who recognize. And my knowledge gives you pleasure.

I wonder if you and Cassandra would get along. Celtic princesses, mystic sisters of the same spirit.  Your pale blue, her olive green. The Artist and the Warrior. You would know each other and understand, identify. But you two are very different. I wonder.

Then your husband grew impatient. And drew you away.

I await your text. Or are you awaiting mine?

 

Boudicca

Boudica_Modern_by_quickreaver

Beautiful Boudicca. I wish I could call you mine. But no, I can’t.

When you arrived late to the gathering, I found myself at the other end. Trapped, away from you. I saw you glance my way so many times. And send me smiles and eye missives.

Finally you motioned for me to come to you. It had been over 4 months since I had even seen you or talked to you. And now talk we did. Standing nose to nose for more than 30 minutes, we caught up.

But it was much more than catching up. I saw the repeated flicker of want in your pale blue eyes.  I peered beneath the exterior, glimpsing into your depths.

I have always known of your powers. We are few who recognize. And my knowledge gives you pleasure.

I wonder if you and Cassandra would get along. Celtic princesses, mystic sisters of the same spirit.  Your pale blue, her olive green. The Artist and the Warrior. You would know each other and understand, identify. But you two are very different. I wonder.

Then your husband grew impatient. And drew you away.

I await your text. Or are you awaiting mine?