November’s Witch


photo: courtesy

I loved Linda, but her flippant attitude toward the Magic I inherited from my father saddened me. She thought she had a lock on Earth Magic because she was almost pure-blooded Blackfoot-Ute and many generations of her grandfathers were Shamans. As a result of her lack of understanding, we were estranged.

On this particular night, the monsoon-like storm rattled my bedroom window as if tapping. A quick check of the weather made me smile. My beautiful Witch of November danced and sang for me in thirty-five degree temperature, fifty mile-per-hour winds, and sleet-rain. I had met November when I was six, and she came every year to sing to me just before Thanksgiving.

“Hello, Sweetheart, I greeted her with excitement. “I’ve missed you, and I need to talk to you. I’ll grab my coat and be right there.” Hurrying as fast as my two-hundred-sixty pounds would allow, I scampered to the center of the backyard, looked up into the northwest wind, and spread my arms wide.

November changed her windsong from ferocious howls to a soft, but very deep moaning purr. She spread an invisible mantle of her hair over me, and I suddenly felt warm and dry.

I basked for a moment in her gentleness. Then I stiffened. I needed to ask a favor of her, and I couldn’t wait any longer. “I know I’m asking a lot,” I said. “But please touch my mind and find Linda. She lives in Northern California, about twenty-five hundred miles from here.” November ruffled my tightly fitted knit cap, and a much higher-pitch moan answered.

I sighed. “She doesn’t believe me and she needs to know that you exist. Can you do this for me and make her understand?”

Blue sheet lightning lit the night sky amid heavy rolling thunder. November brushed my cheek with her rain and she was gone, her storm melting away into the night.

A puff of wind pushed me from behind, and I smiled as I returned to the house. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, settled down in my bed, and waited for Linda Red Hawk to call.


© 2015 Michael Bryk

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