I myself cultivated them to make potions, oils, soaps and mojo bags to attract abundance and virtues.
Surrounded by these perfumes I walked among the people, in my most beautiful dress. I traded these creations of mine for bread, eggs and cheese.
When winter was approaching, I traded them for wool, which I used to sew clothes that would keep me warm and covered. The woods provided for everything else, because I was devoted to him.
At the market, I admired the arts of blacksmiths and wood and wax workers, dreaming of a devoted love. So I waited, and waited and waited, but nobody really ever came.
The years passed I became a young woman courted by many, really wanted by nobody, because I was a witch and for this reason an outsider that soon they will burn at the stake, pretending to forget everything I have done for them, but that is another story.
I thought that there had to be love out there for me too, I sighed at the Moon every night as I continued to grow these spices perpetually.
I had always talked to her about everything. She listened to me like a mother, smiled at me like a friend, encouraged me as a woman, during Her phases.
Slowly, however, I lost this conviction, and I didn't speak to the Moon of love anymore, also because if I looked around, I didn't find any love, not what I believed has to be love: unconditional.
Every year for the Beltane festival the market was my regular destination.
I carefully prepare my table with all my goods. I used to carved also little amulets in wood, but, they only wanted this or that potion.
Young women of marriageable age usually sought love, as if inducing someone to love you, was the main task of a witch, but I had to eat, and I made them potions, with sage, parsley, lavender, rosemary and thyme.
Love cannot be traded, and one's will, cannot be induced by someone. You love me and me only, yes, but for how long? Do they really knew what love was? I would have liked to know because I had no clue, I thought each time that I putted my energies in what they demanded for.
One day a man approached my table. I heard people whispering that he was a warlock and he hadn't visited the market for years, that year his visit shocked everyone. Many believed that he was dead.
He was a hermit, nobody knew his past nor where he had come from; and I remember seeing him once as a child, but my memory was out of focus. But his energy...He had an energy that deep in my soul I knew very well.
His clothes were dark and he wore a hood that covered part of his face. For some reason I couldn't stop my heart for beating too fast.
He was tall for what I could see, with long hair of the same colour as the night.
Black trousers wrapped around his hips and legs, a black shirt open on his chest showed that, if he was the same man I had seen as a child, he had not aged a day.
Around his neck he wore a medallion with a black wolf on it.
Looking at my herbs he said:
"Lavender, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme ..."
"Yes, Sir. I grow them myself ... "
"They remind me she, who once was, the true love of mine ..."
"Oh, You talk to the past …"
"Time has no importance for those like me... past, present and future cancel each other and entwined in their static nature..."
It was at that moment that raising his head from my table, he looked at me with the eyes of the colour of the blue of the sea, and I remembered , he, who once was, the true love of mine.
“Lavender, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme; will always make me find the path that will lead me to you, because I am your true love. Lavender will protect you during my absence. Parsley will comfort you. Sage will give you strength. Rosemary is the love you will need to forgive me, and the thyme will be the courage of both, but above all mine, to return. "
© Diana Mistera 2020
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