By Baker Street
The girl had blond hair and wild blue eyes. Her hair was long and straight. It seemed unkempt because it was blown into a tumble by the wind. She was the autumn child. Her spirit was free, like a wilderness trail on a mountain slope. Nature itself ebbed and flowed through her veins.
Autumn was her season. The season of wind, and the cold creeping in. The season of longing; like the longing in her soul. The season of love and death. She was getting over-theatrical, she said to herself, and smiled a bit at this. But then again, maybe she wasn’t. It was said her great aunt Molly from Ireland was a witch. A real witch. She smiled again.
Madness. Madness was like autumn; madness was like nature dieing. The wind gently rustled and stroked her long hair and her face. She thought of James. James was far away; she almost hoped he would stay that way.
There were clouds building up on the eastern horizon. There may be rain again, she thought. They were rolling in slowly from the farther distance in a thick gray bank. Lighting flashed in the distance, followed by rumbling thunder. Yes, the rain looked as if it was headed this way. Maybe it would rain later tonight.
Dusk was falling, as the girl stood on the hill and looked over the town. The street-lights were coming on like dim candles on a golden cake. The fading sunlight threw the small town in a shimmering glow. A few cars crawled slowly down Main Street. It all looked like a fantasy world for a while at this time of the day. A picture-perfect landscape.
The wind touched her face again. Her eyes were wild and free. She smiled. Maybe she was a witch after-all. Her aunt Molly reborn. The witch of Jamestown, that’s who she was. She smiled again, and this time she actually giggled to herself a bit.
The autumn-child stood on the hill as the daylight slowly faded to a blood-red, and then darkness started to fall. The wind caressed her wild hair, as she slowly started to walk down the hill, back towards home.