Trading in My Broom

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Abstract

, good witches, and even Cruella Deville to go along with my youngest as a Dalmatian. I guess it is about the moon, the magic, the spells, and the secrets carried with the haze of smoke from a bubbling cauldron.I turned to my sketchpad and pencils to carry my thoughts elsewhere in my maiden phase of life. The mother phase was busy. Kids to raise, bills to pay, jobs to work, and time spent buried in the promise of magical wizardry of self-help books in attempts to outrun my fear of “I’ll get you, my pretty.”Entering the crone phase, I am trading in my broom. It’s old and worn out. It’s tired of continuous sweeping of cobwebs from the past. Water is no longer needed to melt the fears instilled by the wicked witch. It is the fire within me that burns steadily. Releasing the anxious and strong-willed flying monkey thoughts,

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they carried the green-faced monster back to the depths of the darkness in the thicket of trees.With the final twirl of inhibition and destruction, the spindly wisps of straw rise to the stars. Three clicks send sparks of magic shooting across the sky. Flying monkeys freed, now, to swing from tree to tree with laughter and love.As the sun rises, the glimmering light shines directly on the path, opening the magnificent doors to the entire forest. No longer do the tall statues of bark cloud my vision. I can ride off on my merry way of awareness. With the wheels beneath me, I am grounded and ready for the ride of my life.<a href="https://readmedium.com/spooktober-week-2-e2e57465c812">Spooktober Prompts Edition</a> — Week 2 — Tuesday — a twirl of inhibition and destruction</article></body>

Slowing Down to Enjoy the Ride

T Shirt Graphic designed by the Author in CANVA

Oh, Halloween! Ghosts and goblins haunt the streets openly, lulled by the eerie background music of cackling witches flying overhead. They conjure fears and power. Suddenly, the emotion-evoking green-faced witch flies overhead on her skywriting broom with the message, “Surrender Dorothy!” My heart stands still.

Halloween is my favorite holiday. A time for playing dress-up and becoming anything or anything that tickles your fancy. Yet, every year, I am a witch of some sort. Wicked witches, sexy witches, good witches, and even Cruella Deville to go along with my youngest as a Dalmatian. I guess it is about the moon, the magic, the spells, and the secrets carried with the haze of smoke from a bubbling cauldron.

I turned to my sketchpad and pencils to carry my thoughts elsewhere in my maiden phase of life. The mother phase was busy. Kids to raise, bills to pay, jobs to work, and time spent buried in the promise of magical wizardry of self-help books in attempts to outrun my fear of “I’ll get you, my pretty.”

Entering the crone phase, I am trading in my broom. It’s old and worn out. It’s tired of continuous sweeping of cobwebs from the past. Water is no longer needed to melt the fears instilled by the wicked witch. It is the fire within me that burns steadily. Releasing the anxious and strong-willed flying monkey thoughts, they carried the green-faced monster back to the depths of the darkness in the thicket of trees.

With the final twirl of inhibition and destruction, the spindly wisps of straw rise to the stars. Three clicks send sparks of magic shooting across the sky. Flying monkeys freed, now, to swing from tree to tree with laughter and love.

As the sun rises, the glimmering light shines directly on the path, opening the magnificent doors to the entire forest. No longer do the tall statues of bark cloud my vision. I can ride off on my merry way of awareness. With the wheels beneath me, I am grounded and ready for the ride of my life.

Spooktober Prompts Edition — Week 2 — Tuesday — a twirl of inhibition and destruction