Wiccan World Of Wonder

Date: 1/24/2019

I was walking down the street of my old hometown in Pennsylvania holding a mostly-finished DIY wand made of drift wood, hemp woven in dream catcher patterns & quartz crystals I was making myself for the purpose of casting circles (something I have always struggled with in my spell work - & often feel guilty for neglecting in reality) tighly at my side. It requires one more quartz, for which I am searching at our ever-conservative / Christian suburban city. When a friend - the only Satanist I've ever known (who I have recently suspected may be attracted to me romantically in reality) - pulls up beside me in an old, secondhand red sportscar in front of our local dollar store & leans, beaming, towards me from the driver's seat through the rolled down passenger-side window & tells me to get in; that he knows of the only place to find Pagan / Wiccan crystals in our conservative neighborhood - complimenting my wand-work. I oblige, & we exchange our critiques of local Wiccan shops that do not exist in our city naturally, watching beautiful arrays & collections of assorted crystals & gemstones gleam in their display windows as we pass them by (as this individual has always been my intelectual debate / social-political sparring partner in the past). We grow closer to a magic wooded road, running down the center of a trail of ancient oak trees on either side, branches arching - outstretching hands to create a beautiful canopy of leaves above us as we speed underneath in our convertable-vehical (I watch with wonder, head tilted upward, resting against the head of my worn-leather seat as I casually-comfortably smoke a cigarette). The leaf tree-canopy casts beautiful, twinkling shadows of fractured sunlight off of us as we drive down it's center. I smile softly as I close my eyes, contended & satisfied against a familiar warm wind from all the past-summers spent similarly in the passenger seat in our dingy wooded Pennsylvanian city - peppered with heavily-wooded areas thrown in the mix amongst winding, pot-holed national-park trails & streets. As we continue, flying against this sunnied breeze & leaves in his vintage vehical, we start to notice that we are now, indeed in the middle of a magic, Pagan wood; full of moving, softly speeking enchanted ent-trees & that THIS is the witches' shop my friend had intended to take me. And I awake to him remarking that he had never anticipated that our Pennsylvanian Pagan trees would ever be such racist things.