Monday, February 1, 2016

Witches and Cream



Witches and Cream
Annie Louise Twitchell

The wind howls and
rattles the bare branches
of the dead pine tree.
In the pale milky light
shining down from the moon
I see a black cat, perched
high in the tree.
Her yellow eyes stare
venomously down,
as she threatens to unleash
the storms of darkness.
In terror I shine my lamp
upwards, hoping that the light
with drive away this--
dainty gray tabby with golden eyes,
hiding up the tree and
playing at scares.
She scrambles down, purring,
quite happy to be done
and come home now.



I, apparently, have a pretty good witch's cackle when I put my mind to it. This information was given me by a slightly more knowledgeable source than the thirteen year old boy who informed me that I was the scariest woman he had ever met. It was, in fact, given to me by a source who excels at evil laughs. (Muahahahaha!!) It is appropriate, therefore, that my cat has a pretty good witching attitude herself, when she puts her mind to it. This evening she was running wild and being spooky, and I managed to get a picture of her doing so, which reminded me of the poem above that I wrote a couple months ago. Now, as I am writing this, she has stopped trying to nestle between me and the laptop and is instead sitting beside me, looking forlorn and waiting for me to be done so we can go watch a movie and she can have my lap, uncontested. 

Copyright 2016 by Annie Louise Twitchell