Potions

I have always been taken with the idea of witches and the occult. Even now, when the leaves turn and the air turns crisp, I can't help but imagine possible potions and concoctions. My birthday is in the fall, and I'm sure that plays a role in my particular fondness for it, but regardless it makes for the most perfect, witchy afternoons.

The potion-making process was centered around my sensory experience of the autumnal. The air is sharper, clearer, and cuts the throat with an ease that seemingly vanishes during the warmer months. The leaves are crisp at the edges, dying quickly, and browned. They remind me of mushy paper bags-- once mixed, the perfect roux for a potion. The rain water collects in a plastic barrel by the garage. It's bitterly cold and I love it. The pot I use is large and meant for stews, but my mother doesn't know, but she will. I use a wooden spoon because the water-mark helps measure things properly. I can usually find dead flowers around the house. Roses are my favorite. I crush the petals individually, between two rocks, above the pot. I tear the bark off of rotting twigs, and I add dishsoap sometimes too.

I can't remember if the potions had spells attached to them. I don't think that is important. The potions are inherently mystical and magical and spellbound, I think. It is mid-October and I am sitting beneath the treehouse, rhythmically mixing for much too long. The ground is wet, things are dying, my hands are cold, and I am happy.