“Manifest
with the Moon. We are water, and tonight, we will be one with the shifting
waves,” said Owletta, glancing at each flickering face, hoping the seeds she
planted on the new Moon would come to fruition. “Yemaya hears our prayer,” said Willow, pushing
her candle into the sand near her bare feet, reaching into her beach bag for
another. The
coven sat, crossed-legged in a circle, whispering unintelligible prayers to the
East wind, chanting, and beating their bare thighs like a drum. Willow swayed,
lifting her arms over her head. Across from Willow, Wren threaded her long
blond hair behind her ears, waiting for the East wind to blow away the cobwebs.
Nettle of the North stared at the irregular star, etched into the sand between
them, beating her thighs harder and jiggling her loose flesh like Gelatin. Across
the circle, Owletta closed her black eyes, praying to Yemaya, Goddess of the
ocean, water, and tides. After
several minutes the coven stood, breaking from the circle, collecting the
water-filled mason jars, unscrewing the caps. Each Witch placed a jar in a
corresponding corner of the sand-drawn star: North, East, South, and West. The
moon water waited under a darkening sky. Again,
the coven formed a circle, staring at the horizon painted with a thin strip of
orange. The rise of the Moon was nigh. “Wren,
your vanilla-scented candle smells cheap, like toast,” scolded Nettle. Giggles
erupted. “Someone’s coming!” said Willow. The
coven giggled louder, rushing to hide amongst the cemetery of gnarly driftwood,
covering themselves with beach towels and goose-pimpled arms. “Bare skin is a
Witches’ Sunday best,” said Nettle in a low voice. The
coven hid, listening to the waves until the silhouettes of two mysterious
beachgoers disappeared into the night. The group took their places on the
ground again, tipping the towels from their shoulders, looking to the horizon. They
waited. “Should
we disperse our intentions?” asked Wren. Owletta
withdrew a tiny seashell from beneath her bare butt, throwing it towards the
shore. “Yes,” she said. The
coven ransacked their beach bags, pulling handfuls of bay leaves from within. Willow
came away with a single leaf, kneeling near a candle, reading the tiny message
she had scribbled on the leaf in pencil. Willow kissed the leaf and stood, running
towards the waves; the rest of the coven followed. Warm water washed over their
feet, splashing eight legs with salty kisses. The women threw the bay leaves
into the waters of Botany Bay. Simultaneously, a Full Moon crested over the
horizon like the eye of a cyclops. “Look!” shouted Wren. The
coven stared, watching the disc rise, a ribbon of white flowing over the water
like a coil of rope. Owletta wished she could pull it into her body, harnessing
all the power of Yemaya. Owletta’s dreams for the coven felt as deep as the
ocean. The Moon symbolizes my inner world, and what happens in the dark
stays in the dark. She thought with a smile. |
