(Photographer: Daniel Bran Griffith, the Chattering Magpie) I have discovered over the years a very unique subgenre of witchy woman in the Pagan and Occult..
Come sit, heathen. At long last, I’ve solved the most vexing riddle, and I can see by the ache behind your eyes that you wonder..
The silver tongue of that thinning moon was licking me in just the right places, and I crept from my bed like a lust-drunk and..
These are the days of the late-winter ache, and I’ve learned to hear the haunted call of those never-born-always-dead hags who are wiser than I..
She came to my door fire-eyed this morning, retching pomegranate juice and demanding to know where my underworld words come from. I told her I..
I wouldn’t bother her. Not today. Best keep those formalities tucked away in your pockets for those mannerly friends blessed with visions tamer than hers,..
Ever since I was a little girl, I have always been told that despite my melanated skin, curly hair and thick lips, I wasn’t allowed..
Don’t follow me; not tonight. That holly-haired hag of wintertide is lurking ‘round the edges of these forbidden lands, and only shecan properly eulogize the..
These bones of mine were restless, and I was half-dreaming of an eyeless crow gnawing away at my storyteller’s lips. I woke with a quickening..
Come, pilgrim. Rest here in my garish summer garden. I’ve just poured fresh moon-blood on rosemary in the name of the Cailleach, and I’ve nothing..
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The House of Twigs
