I am an Appalachian Witch. It is said the people who once lived here came from an island on the back of a giant turtle. That their shamans and sorcery were believed to be the most powerful around. That the nature spirits, or Little People, live within rocks and trees, waiting to play their mischievious pranks. Like Laurel tying the fishermen’s lines.
I am an Appalachian Witch. To the north, I climb for a mountain of food. To the south, I swim in the rivers of a valley of medicine. Where the water is radiant and springs fill the woods, bubbling with forgotten lithia waters once famous for their healing. Here Bloodroot decorates the forest floor, and great vines hang from the trees. Remnants of a ghost town scattered among them, where old bottles can be found as easily as the ingredients one may put inside.
I am an Appalachian Witch. Accustomed both to the silence and the howling of the night. The winds and falling trees, owls, toads, and coyotes. Where walking at night, in a ghost town void of light, you never know what rustles in the woods around you, what beast’s nocturnal sounds resonate through you. Here you may find the calls of nature, or eerie music of the past.
I am an Appalachian Witch. Where moonlight shines through window bright. The shadows of leaves dancing across your naked flesh, as darker shadows dance across the internal dreamscape where the Grandmother of the land’s cottage may be found, her table full as her Grandson and dog wonder about. Many lessons she does offer in her guarded cabin in the woods, but only if you can prove your will strong enough to unlock them.