I’m moved into my backyard for the season. My flowers are starting to bloom enough for me to make small bouquets of fresh loveliness for myself every few days. I’ve been writing again in the early morning hours with my coffee and I find that there are so many life lessons that can be gleaned from where I sit and watch. No need to go too far afield. Of course, I love going far afield, but these past few weeks, it seems the lessons and magic abound right here at home.
Today, I just want to have one breathing moment of powerful, lovely, happiness in one place. I am in the need of beauty. Beautiful words, beautiful images, beautiful ideas.
Joy is its own kind of rebellion. – Chuck Wendig
“You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.”
– Maya Angelou
Have you seen this quote rambling around the inter-webs?
“We are the granddaughters of the witches you were never able to burn.” – unknown
I came across it for the first time yesterday. I read it, then re-read it and a swoon threaten. Put this phrase down in the book of “Things I Wish I Had Written.”
However, overnight this phrase had time to marinate.
I dreamed of broomsticks and witches hats. Of strong women wrongly accused of being successful in healing arts where men failed. Of cauldrons and eyes of newt. Of bra burnings and rights to vote. Of potions and spells.
The writer in me reveled in story lines short circuiting my brain. All because of one quote.
The historian in me skimmed through the annals of the past and mapped out a thesis based on the quote.
And amid the mad rush of a smile that curved my lips, the current state of the world lit this phrase, dismissing the coming smile.
We’re still condemning witches, still lighting torches to hunt them. Still scared and ignorant of the unknown.
This one phrase is loaded. Burdened with past transgressions. But, it is also heavy with hope. The witches of today have daughters and granddaughters too.