Strife

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At the end of the summer the sea always seems to be railing against the thought of another long, fierce new England winter. The waves hurtle themselves against the rocks with blind rage. Fishermen think of August as a terrifying month, but for me, it’s the most thrilling. Maybe it’s because my family has lived in Gloucester for generations. OR maybe it’s because we’re Wiccans, and that puts us in greater tune with nature.

It’s ironic to think that my family settled so close to Salem—we were very lucky to survive the witch trials. It’s strange to think that Wicca could inspire such terror when it’s such a gentle, loving, nurturing religion. I guess people are always afraid of power that they don’t understand. And Wicca does deal with raw power, although the way my family practices, it’s never destructive. Both Mom and Dad are very into responsible uses of magick, which they drummed into me before my initiation three years ago. Now they are teaching the same thing to my younger brother, Sam. He won’t be initiated for another seven months, but already I can see the energy beginning to spark n him. I know he’s going to be a powerful witch. I’m looking forward to his rites, but it’s hard not to envy him sometimes. My own power is more fickle, although I like to think that it is growing ad I continue to study and practice.

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