To Sheila


When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story window from behind the wrinkled curtains and sometimes she would open the window and yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp and a voice like …

Mountain Witches


How could I be anything but a witch having grown up, and now, once again living within the green majesty of these beloved Mother Mountains?  Within these forested hills and deep, dark hollers are women who have never called themselves “witches.”   Women who have never entered the incense scented New Age Witch shop in town.  They have never worn …