The days grow shorter. The sun casts long shadows in the middle of the day.
A warm breeze caresses my face.
- What is wrong with the world, an old woman cries out. – What are the CLAWS I feel, reaching for my throat?
People look at her as if she’s addled, while it’s they that, in truth are not right in their head.
It’s a timely question, even though the beyond strange and uncommon weather isn’t really the worst of it.
What’s truly and horribly wrong has been so for a very long time. The human created Global Warming is merely one more symptom of that.
I and my fellow witches come together in our circle. We feel the growing imbalance of the world; the horrible imbalance humanity has created. We don’t even have to try.
We suffer all of us, in this world of steel, and concrete and glass and plastic, the world of creativity gone insane, where people creating ever more destructive tools are considered geniuses. Hands seek hands, mind seek mind, as we sit there contemplating the insanity, the sick despair blanketing the world. The world is lost, and we are slowly, in pain picking up its pieces.
There is a glimmer here, some piece there, of the humanity, the life and fire we once knew by heart. We have to think about what was once as natural as breathing. It’s awkward doing what we should do. And that is wrong, so very wrong.
We seek deep into the forest, into the wild, wild areas of humanity and the world, to find the so very valuable, essential pieces of ourselves.