Rapt by NatureA Story by Yari GarciaA short story about a young woman connecting with the witch within...Mayla’s naked toes wiggled, opening and closing like tiny baby fists to feel the sandy, rocky shore of the river. She stepped closer to the water, which lapped lazily in ever-changing rhythms, coming and going. Little minnows flicked back and forth underneath the clear surface, unaware of the large person looming over them like a Goddess. Some threat, Mayla thought, recalling her mother’s dire warnings about the river. You
cannot swim there! her mother had said. There’s
all kinds of bacteria in there. You’ll
get an ear infection--or worse. Stick to
the pool. You have no business in the
forest. And maybe her mother was
right. Perhaps Mayla should have stayed
at home, her nose deep in her highlighted and scribbled-on book, The Witch’s Way. That’s
how you become a witch,
many people had said to her. The author is just so amazing… So why, then, had the forest
called to her? Why the river? This wasn’t in her book. Yet she was drawn to the forest, to the
river, with both heart and a deep sense of rebellion. She had kicked her shoes off, yanked the hair
tie right off her ponytail, letting her dyed-black hair flow free and untamed
upon her shoulders. Feeling a wildness
deep in her belly that churned strong like a hurricane, and shimmered gently
like stars. Mayla looked up and
around. Trees loomed up all around her,
large and green and protective. She
could recognize them, but didn’t know their names. I
should know their names. She wanted to know the
forest by name. She wanted to know the
forest intimately. Mayla looked at the
shrubbery on the other side of the river.
So many trees… so many different plant species… She sighed. She would never be able to know them by
name--to know each leaf, each medicinal property, each magical correspondence… Maybe everyone was
right. Maybe she should have stayed at
home. Maybe the way to be a witch was to
simply read that book by that famous author.
If anyone knew how to be a witch, it would be that author. That author would tell her what to do. She bit her lip. What am
I doing here? She was a freshman in
college. Young. Inexperienced. She had been calling herself a witch--for how
long now? Six months? What did a “witch” of six months have to say-- A rustling in the
woods. Mayla spun around, the jagged
little rocks of the bank digging into the soles of her feet. The pain registered for only a second before
fear sent the blood coursing through her body in a chill. Mayla took a careful step back. Between the foliage was a
bear’s head, large as a soldier’s shield, moving back and forth, making its way
to the river. Powerful shoulders broke
through, then dinner-plate-sized paws with claws that Mayla could not rip her
eyes away from. Slow, steady, the bear
came. A large furry mass that filled her
with a morbid curiosity of wanting to feel its power, wanting to feel its soft
fur, wanting also to run away. Slowly, Mayla stepped back
into the river. The intense chill of the
water hit her skin like a faraway voice that said “I’m here! I’m here!” Her feet were ankle-deep in the water, and her
mother’s warning flashed in her mind, crying out the bacteria! Mayla glanced
down to see the minnows rushing to her feet, little delicate mouths kissing,
kissing, kissing at her toes and ankles. Mayla’s knees locked when
she looked into the bear’s eyes. They
were brown, alert, wise… and for a moment they looked like the eyes of her old
dog, a German Shepherd named Bilbo. She
missed him. She missed him dearly. The bear raised his nose in
the air, its breath a sound like the rush of wind she had felt on her ears the
first time she rode a roller coaster. Mayla
unfroze. She stepped back as the bear
kept pressing forward. She turned
around, dove headfirst into the river. The cold water enveloped
her, and soon she was swept by the powerful current, rushing down, kicking,
gasping for air when her head bobbed up to the surface. Mayla,
don’t panic. Was it the water
speaking? Mayla remembered her swimming
lessons, her training, and kicked, moved her arms. She treaded water as it still pushed her like
God’s hand--and a deep sense of calm swept over her. She could see the tree
branches high above, the sun peeking through the leaves like so many stars. She could smell them, and even though she
didn’t know their names, they waved at her.
She could see the shadows rushing by her body, fishes like people
walking on a busy avenue. She could see
the sky, the clouds… She could feel
her body adjusting to the temperature of that cold water, so perfectly that it
was hard to tell where her body ended and the river began. Somewhere in the distance, a
bird called her name. And like a hand, the river
once again pushed her, this time to the other side, to the shore. Mayla’s raspy breath came out with giddiness,
her body full of a shivering energy that felt electric. She reached the shallow and walked out of the
river. She looked to the distance--she
had lost her shoes. She had lost an old part of
herself. Mayla sat on the riverbank
and laughed. It was going to be a long
walk back to her car. Enough time to
further know the forest, she thought. And
as soon as she got home, she was going to throw away that book. Mayla would learn from the
river, from Mother Nature, instead.
YG © 2018 Yari GarciaAuthor's Note
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9 Reviews Added on January 2, 2018 Last Updated on January 3, 2018 Tags: pagan, paganism, nature, mother nature, goddess, wicca, witch, witchcraft, short story, yari garcia, moody thursday AuthorYari GarciaDenver, COAbout~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* =^ v ^= Hi! I'm Yari Garcia. I'm a YA/New Adult author. I would love to share with you short stories and poetry. (/ (/ (^-^) c(")(") .. more..Writing
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