The Bog Witch's Legacy
I blinked only to see wisps of white cotton candy clouds swirling above me. The sky so lovely and blue it could cure a broken heart. Well, almost anyway. Sitting up I realized I must have fallen asleep after the funeral. Everyone appeared to have already vacated the cemetery, which allowed for some of my dignity to remain in tact. All things considered it was a gorgeous Autumn day. Had I not just laid my favorite relative to rest, it might have been enjoyable. I ran my hands through my mess of curly, tangled auburn hair. Oh, if my Granny Sea could see me now! She'd laugh saying, “Jordan! Child, that head is a mess!” How is it possible just a week ago, we were together, laughing and picking herbs in her garden? This deep ache and sorrow was nothing new. I'd first felt it at age ten when I'd come to live with Granny Sea. My Mother dropped me off there in the heat of summer, promising she'd be back in a few weeks, before driving off to California to “try her hand at acting”. At first she'd sent postcards with sunny beaches, but they became fewer and fewer, until stopping altogether. Granny kindly tried to explain saying, “Some people weren't meant to be Mothers, especially when they's only good at wanderin' and leavin'.” I guess my Mother was a wandering woman, I didn't blame her for that. After all, I was happy to have been raised by Granny. We spoke the same language. The language of nature. We'd spend long days hiking through her woods, foraging for wild mushrooms, or planting seeds and pulling weeds in her enormous garden.
