"Legends of The Fall," --- [Ending scene]...

One of the most satisfying endings I've ever seen, --- from one of my favorite movies.

Mary Jemmison's Account Of Her Capture By The Seneca...

"The party that took us consisted of six Indians and four Frenchmen, who immediately commenced plundering, as I just observed, and took what they considered most valuable; consisting principally of bread, meal, and meat. Having taken as much provision as they could carry, they set out with their prisoners in great haste, for fear of detection, and soon entered the woods.

On our march that day, an Indian went behind us with a whip, with which he frequently lashed the children, to make them keep up. In this manner we traveled till dark, without a mouthful of food or a drop of water, although we had not eaten since the night before. Whenever the little children cried for water, the Indians would make them drink urine, or go thirsty. At night they encamped in the woods, without fire and without shelter, where we were watched with the greatest vigilance. Extremely fatigued, and very hungry, we were compelled to lie upon the ground, without supper or a drop of water to satisfy the cravings of our appetites. As in the daytime, so the little ones were made to drink urine in the night, if they cried for water. Fatigue alone brought us a little sleep for the refreshment of our weary limbs; and at the dawn of day we were again started on our march, in the same order that we had proceeded the day before.

About sunrise we were halted, and the Indians gave us a full breakfast of provision that they had brought from my father's house. Each of us, being very hungry, partook of this bounty of the Indians, except father, who was so much overcome with his situation, so much exhausted by anxiety and grief, that silent despair seemed fastened upon his countenance, and he could not be prevailed upon to refresh his sinking nature by the use of a morsel of food. Our repast being finished, we again resumed our march; and before noon passed a small fort, that I heard my father say was called Fort Canagojigge.

That was the only time that I heard him speak from the time we were taken till we were finally separated the following night.

Toward evening, we arrived at the border of a dark and dismal swamp, which was covered with small hemlocks or some other evergreen, and various kinds of bushes, into which we were conducted; and having gone a short distance, we stopped to encamp for the night.

Here we had some bread and meat for supper; but the dreariness of our situation, together with the uncertainty under which we all labored, as to our future destiny, almost deprived us of the sense of hunger, and destroyed our relish for food.

As soon as I had finished my supper, an Indian took off my shoes and stockings, and put a pair of moccasins on my feet, which my mother observed; and believing that they would spare my life, even if they should destroy the other captives, addressed me, as near as I can remember, in the following words:

'My dear little Mary, I fear that the time has arrived when we must be parted for ever. Your life, my child, I think will be spared; but we shall probably be tomahawked here in this lonesome place by the Indians. Oh! how can I part with you, my darling? What will become of my sweet little Mary? Oh! how can I think of your being continued in captivity, without a hope of your being rescued? Oh! that death had snatched you from my embraces in your infancy: the pain of parting then would have been pleasing to what It now is; and I should have seen the end of your troubles! Alas, my dear! my heart bleeds at the thought of what awaits you; but, if you leave us, remember, my child, your own name, and the names of your father and mother. Be careful and not forget your English tongue. If you shall have an opportunity to get away from the Indians don't try to escape; for if you do they will find and destroy you. Don't forget, my little daughter, the prayers that I have learned you - say them often: be a good child, and God will bless you! May God bless you, my child, and make you comfortable and happy.'

During this time, the Indians stripped the shoes and stockings from the little boy that belonged to the woman who was taken with us, and put moccasins on his feet, as they had done before on mine. I was crying. An Indian took the little boy and myself by the hand, to lead us off from the company, when my mother exclaimed, 'Don't cry, Mary! - don't cry, my child! God will bless you! Farewell - farewell!'

The Indian led us some distance into the bushes or woods, and there lay down with us to spend the night. The recollection of parting with my tender mother kept me awake, while the tears constantly flowed from my eyes. A number of times in the night, the little boy begged of me earnestly to run away with him, and get clear of the Indians; but remembering the advice I had so lately received, and knowing the dangers to which we should be exposed, in traveling without a path and without a guide, through a wilderness unknown to us, I told him that I would not go, and persuaded him to lie still till morning.

My suspicion as to the fate of my parents proved too true; for soon after I left them they were killed and scalped, together with Robert, Matthew, Betsey, and the woman and her two children, and mangled in the most shocking manner

After a hard day's march we encamped in a thicket, where the Indians made a shelter of boughs, and then built a good fire to warm and dry our benumbed limbs and clothing; for it had rained some through the day. Here we were again fed as before. When the Indians had finished their supper, they took from their baggage a number of scalps, and went about preparing them for the market, or to keep without spoiling, by straining them over small hoops which they prepared for that purpose, and then drying and scraping them by the fire.

Having put the scalps, yet wet and bloody, upon the hoops, and stretched them to their full extent, they held them to the fire till they were partly dried, and then, with their knives, commenced scraping off the flesh; and in that way they continued to work, alternately drying and scraping them, till they were dry and clean. That being done, they combed the hair in the neatest manner, and then painted it and the edges of the scalps, yet on the hoops, red. Those scalps I knew at the time must have been taken from our family, by the color of the hair. My mother's hair was red; and I could easily distinguish my father's and the children's from each other. That sight was most appalling; yet I was obliged to endure it without complaining. In the course of the night, they made me to understand that they should not have killed the family, if the whites had not pursued them."

"Stolen Women, Captured Hearts," - Movie Ending...

Anna knows she belongs with Tokalah.

The Wisdom Of Mother Goose...

For every problem under the sun there is a solution, or there is none... If there is one, go and find it...  If there is none, never mind it."  --- Mother Goose.

"Stolen Women Captured Hearts," - Listen To Your Heart...

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove," --- Chapter 4...

  

   When the average person discovers you’re a witch this question often comes up...  "Do you practice 'skyclad'?"  Ravenstar Coven's answer to that is,--- no, we don't work naked, --- not ever.!  You would be surprised at the disappointed looks on faces when we say this, but maybe you wouldn't.  Most folks love a scandalous things!  But, our coven unanimously agreed that we would wear clothes.  There was no vote.  There never is.  It was simply agreed.  Really, --- New England has far too cold a climate for skyclad!

   Gran was bustling about hours before the celebration, from dawn, actually, as she usually does for any celebration.  Tatiana and I helped her put together the nine grains with which to bake the bread for Lammas, the first harvest.  For the grains we used wheat, rye, barley, millet, flax, rice, corn meal, oats and even acorns, soaked for days and days to remove their tannic acid and then ground to flour.

    Acorns are used, the fruit the oak, a very masculine tree, in honor of the stag god, consort of the moon goddess.  The goddess is naturally depicted as the huntress, Diana; but, of course, she has many other names.  The god is usually thought of as Herne.  Our Lammas bread was made with plenty of eggs to bind all those coarse grains together and it was heavy on the wheat.  It also contained sunflower seeds and black and white raisins.  Many of the long and thick loaves were placed on the altar, which was piled high with apples, grapes and nuts in their shells.  There were bottles of juices, rose wine and imported ale because it's traditional and part of the ritual to have "cakes and ale" afterwards.  Things went well.  Tall bamboo torches lit the area where the tables had been set.  White, black, gold, orange, brown and red candles were shoved into empty wine bottles filled with multi-colored sands.  They too provided illumination.  

   Many of us were dressed in the flowing robes of our choice.  Tatiana wore cream colored muslin trimmed with chartreuse fabric leaves.  I was gaudy in crimson, brown and purple silk.  Gran wore black satin with her braided silver cord belt, sliver necklaces and strings of garnets.  Bertram was in rust brown looking like a hunter, but with much gold jewelry, Yolanda in forest green and with her big, gleaming dematoid garnet brooch.  Maeve was in flaming orange, matching her orange hair, and with many jangling charm bracelets on her arms.  But, aside from her typical flamboyance and strident voice, which was loud as a bullhorn and as abrasive as a steel scouring pad, if a scouring pad could talk.  She was pretty normal, - for her, that is.  The other members of the coven were not as spectacularly dressed.  Abigail Cummins wore her usual hippie-style vintage bell bottoms, leather fringes and love beads.  Dave Svenson wore jeans, but also fur and strips of leather as his Nordic tradition warranted.

   We made crowns of twisted grape vines and thin flexible maple branches; there were stalks of wheat and bright zinnias for anyone who wanted to wave them about.  We dipped silky brushes in silver, gold, light blue and lavender paint and on our faces and bodies put magical spirals and stars.  The women painted their legs.  The men painted their chests.  I asked James, who showed up after a while, if he wanted his chest painted, but he refused with a charming smile on his exceptionally handsome face.  Still, when he came near our huge balfire, where we were cavorting and it was almost as bright as day and hot as a California beach, he took off his shirt.

   The sight of James' magnificent and shining chest was atremendous charge for me and I went to get him a big cold mug of ale.  I was rewarded with a gentle casual kiss on the lips which literally took my breath away.  James' warm arm went around my waist.  Then, he grinned, took a swig of ale, licked his top lip, laughed, and left to get a plate of food from the banquet tables.  I just stood there stupidly with my mouth open.  

   Although our celebrations are only for coven members sometimes very good friends who are sympathetic toward our beliefs, like James, and the coven's close family members are invited.  Children of coven members are always welcome, if they are well-behaved.  James said he was very curious about the Craft.  He stood apart, leaning against a tree with a sardonic expression on his face.  I knew from the cross around his neck and the saint's medals on the same silver chain that he was a practicing Catholic.

   But, when we started drumming to raise energy James came forward to beat enthusiastically on my bongos.  Tatiana drummed on her Egyptian domek.  I danced very sensually with my vintage castanets and with the zills or finger cymbals.  Gran was at her Nigerian slit drum which could be heard over all other percussion instruments.  I danced with Tatiana, around and around the enormous balfire.

   It was very early in the morning, about three o'clock, when Gran, Tatiana and me were cleaning up and carrying the holiday things from the woods back to the house, with the help of a smiling, joking and very pleasant James, when we saw a figure dart out of the shadows near the front steps.  The person was carrying a big canvas sack over his or her shoulder. The moon appeared from under gray clouds revealing the shocked face of Travis Hayko, his eyes wide.  James dropped the folding chairs he was toting and ran toward him, chasing him toward the shadows of tall trees near road.  The two figures merged.  Then, James let out a sharp cry, his body folded up and he dropped instantly to the ground.

   Tatiana got to him first.  She was rolling him to his back when I ran up.  I covered my mouth and gasped as I looked down at him.  A switchblade stuck out of James' side, a stain of dark blood seeping rapidly into the ground.  James' beautiful face was set in a grimace, but he made no sound.

  Gran pointed a long finger back toward the house,- "Run, Tatiana!  Call 911!  Hurry!  HURRY!  OH, DO, DO HURRY!"

   When the average person discovers you’re a witch this question often comes up...  "Do you practice 'skyclad'?"  Ravenstar Coven's answer to that is,--- no, we don't work naked, --- not ever.!  You would be surprised at the disappointed looks on faces when we say this, but maybe you wouldn't.  Most folks love a scandalous things!  But, our coven unanimously agreed that we would wear clothes.  There was no vote.  There never is.  It was simply agreed.  Really, --- New England has far too cold a climate for skyclad!

   Gran was bustling about hours before the celebration, from dawn, actually, as she usually does for any celebration.  Tatiana and I helped her put together the nine grains with which to bake the bread for Lammas, the first harvest.  For the grains we used wheat, rye, barley, millet, flax, rice, corn meal, oats and even acorns, soaked for days and days to remove their tannic acid and then ground to flour.

    Acorns are used, the fruit the oak, a very masculine tree, in honor of the stag god, consort of the moon goddess.  The goddess is naturally depicted as the huntress, Diana; but, of course, she has many other names.  The god is usually thought of as Herne.  Our Lammas bread was made with plenty of eggs to bind all those coarse grains together and it was heavy on the wheat.  It also contained sunflower seeds and black and white raisins.  Many of the long and thick loaves were placed on the altar, which was piled high with apples, grapes and nuts in their shells.  There were bottles of juices, rose wine and imported ale because it's traditional and part of the ritual to have "cakes and ale" afterwards.  Things went well.  Tall bamboo torches lit the area where the tables had been set.  White, black, gold, orange, brown and red candles were shoved into empty wine bottles filled with multi-colored sands.  They too provided illumination.  

   Many of us were dressed in the flowing robes of our choice.  Tatiana wore cream colored muslin trimmed with chartreuse fabric leaves.  I was gaudy in crimson, brown and purple silk.  Gran wore black satin with her braided silver cord belt, sliver necklaces and strings of garnets.  Bertram was in rust brown looking like a hunter, but with much gold jewelry, Yolanda in forest green and with her big, gleaming dematoid garnet brooch.  Maeve was in flaming orange, matching her orange hair, and with many jangling charm bracelets on her arms.  But, aside from her typical flamboyance and strident voice, which was loud as a bullhorn and as abrasive as a steel scouring pad, if a scouring pad could talk.  She was pretty normal, - for her, that is.  The other members of the coven were not as spectacularly dressed.  Abigail Cummins wore her usual hippie-style vintage bell bottoms, leather fringes and love beads.  Dave Svenson wore jeans, but also fur and strips of leather as his Nordic tradition warranted.

   We made crowns of twisted grape vines and thin flexible maple branches; there were stalks of wheat and bright zinnias for anyone who wanted to wave them about.  We dipped silky brushes in silver, gold, light blue and lavender paint and on our faces and bodies put magical spirals and stars.  The women painted their legs.  The men painted their chests.  I asked James, who showed up after a while, if he wanted his chest painted, but he refused with a charming smile on his exceptionally handsome face.  Still, when he came near our huge balfire, where we were cavorting and it was almost as bright as day and hot as a California beach, he took off his shirt.

   The sight of James' magnificent and shining chest was atremendous charge for me and I went to get him a big cold mug of ale.  I was rewarded with a gentle casual kiss on the lips which literally took my breath away.  James' warm arm went around my waist.  Then, he grinned, took a swig of ale, licked his top lip, laughed, and left to get a plate of food from the banquet tables.  I just stood there stupidly with my mouth open.  

   Although our celebrations are only for coven members sometimes very good friends who are sympathetic toward our beliefs, like James, and the coven's close family members are invited.  Children of coven members are always welcome, if they are well-behaved.  James said he was very curious about the Craft.  He stood apart, leaning against a tree with a sardonic expression on his face.  I knew from the cross around his neck and the saint's medals on the same silver chain that he was a practicing Catholic.

   But, when we started drumming to raise energy James came forward to beat enthusiastically on my bongos.  Tatiana drummed on her Egyptian domek.  I danced very sensually with my vintage castanets and with the zills or finger cymbals.  Gran was at her Nigerian slit drum which could be heard over all other percussion instruments.  I danced with Tatiana, around and around the enormous balfire.

   It was very early in the morning, about three o'clock, when Gran, Tatiana and me were cleaning up and carrying the holiday things from the woods back to the house, with the help of a smiling, joking and very pleasant James, when we saw a figure dart out of the shadows near the front steps.  The person was carrying a big canvas sack over his or her shoulder. The moon appeared from under gray clouds revealing the shocked face of Travis Hayko, his eyes wide.  James dropped the folding chairs he was toting and ran toward him, chasing him toward the shadows of tall trees near road.  The two figures merged.  Then, James let out a sharp cry, his body folded up and he dropped instantly to the ground.

   Tatiana got to him first.  She was rolling him to his back when I ran up.  I covered my mouth and gasped as I looked down at him.  A switchblade stuck out of James' side, a stain of dark blood seeping rapidly into the ground.  James' beautiful face was set in a grimace, but he made no sound.

  Gran pointed a long finger back toward the house,- "Run, Tatiana!  Call 911!  Hurry!  HURRY!  OH, DO, DO HURRY!"

Yes, --- [Giggle]...

"Flashdance," - "Maniac," ♥...

"Flashdance,"1983) - Last Dance Scene, - ["Take your passion and make it happen!"]...

From The Movie, --- "Practical Magic"...

"The Witches Of Wildcroft Cove," --- Chapter 3...

                                                                          Chapter Three

"Thank you so very much, James,"  Matilda purred as he opened the back door of the Eldorado for her.  James touched the brim of his Greek fisherman's cap in a sassy salute.  His thick tawny lashes swept down.  His perfect teeth showed in a grin almost to his back molars.  The sexy navy blue cap sat at a jaunty angle on his blond head and the ends of his silvery hair brushed the shoulders of his black t shirt.

The cap was slightly reminiscent of part of the chauffeur's uniform that Grandma Lila tried to get James to wear, but he absolutely wouldn't.  James gravitated to t shirts with Gothic designs on them and tight jeans.  He leaned into the red leather front seat of the gleaming Cadillac and picked up the stack of gaudy bowed-tied packages from various boutiques, preparing to carry them to the house.  I rolled my eyes skyward as I looked at his shapely little ass.  Matilda caught my expression, threw her head back and laughed.

Perhaps James knew what we were laughing about.  I couldn't see his expression over the packages he balanced as he walked up the pink and white granite path to the front steps.  Grandma was coming down those steps, a tall glass of iced tea in her hand, probably Long Island Iced Tea.  There was a sprig of fresh mint sticking out of the top of the glass and Grandma had a mischievous look in her eyes.  A bit drunky she was, now that I looked closer...  And, it was only ten o'clock on a rather damp and dark Saturday morning.  The toadstools weren't even burned off our huge front lawn. 

Grandma Lila waved dramatically at James.  "Take them into the parlor, James.  I doubt you can fit any more packages on Matilda's bed.  It's still full of shoe boxes from her last trip to Blanchard's.  Matilda Darling, are you depressed or something?  You've been going shopping even more than you usually do."

"Just frantically bored, Gran."

"Bored?  What?  Your flower shop isn't doing well?"

"Now really, Gran, you know that orchids and gardenias and seasonal arrangements aren't even a fraction of enough for me."

"No, I suppose not.  Still you make a good living there."

"Gran, you KNOW that nobody in this family has to work!"

"True...  True, very true."  Grandma smiled at Matilda.  She was wearing one of her Arabian silk galabeyas, a fuchsia and lime green one with a contrasting cobalt blue scarf tied around her hair.  Her feet were bare, just the slightest glimpse of turquoise toenails adorned with shocking pink swirls peeking from under her hem.  Her good mood was surely, in part, because she hadn't yet discovered her unlocked magical room.  Had Matilda jimmied the lock or had Grandma simply forgotten to seal the door?  I hardly thought that my lazy sister would go to all the trouble of breaking in simply to find a hiding place to screw Travis Hayko.

"You girls haven't forgotten that Lammas is three days from now, have you?"

"Oh!"  Matilda's eyes got big with mock surprise.  "Well, - I..."

"You had!"  Grandma frowned at her.  "Really, Matilda, ARE you a witch, or not?"

Matilda got a wild, defiant look on her face.  "I AM!"

"Don't get snarky with me, young lady.  Pull back those hooded gypsy eyes of your's.  Your father's reckless blood in you...  He was a carny, and an Irish traveler too.  One day the handsome devil was simply gone."

I sighed.  "When is mom getting out of rehab?"  Matilda and I had the same mother, but not the same fathers.  Mine was the "Frat Boy". as Grandma referred to him.  She told me once his name was Bob Martin.  Then, she changed it to Rob Martini, and said that the less I knew about my father, the better; little skunk, she called him.  

"Debra is not coming home for a while, from that expensive clinic in Bordeau with the designer cabins!"

Matilda still looked angry.  "Mom's better off there.  She hates chilly New England.  She can't understand why you stay here, Gran."

"The cold is refreshing, so invigorating to the spirit!  And, I had that new furnace put in last spring.  Then, this old house has a lovely soapstone fireplace in every bedroom and that big black enamel wood-burning stove in the kitchen, the one Conchetta begged me to get, plus the Viking electric range and sub-zero freezer!  I swear I spoil our cook!'

"You adore her, Gran."  Matilda sighed.  "Even though she's a freaking manic about being spotless in the kitchen and she gabbles under her breath all day long, swearing in rapid fire Spanish."

"Yes, I do love her, AND, - well, I POSITIVELY LOVE her cooking!  Oh, by the way, speaking of cooking,--- the Feast...  It's my turn to host a holiday so the coven will be coming here for the celebration, no small family thing with just us and Oona and Olga.  My sister Hilda has consented to allow them to attend this Lammas.  Of course, she'll be coming too."

"Great Aunt Hilda and my wicked nine year old horse obsessed twin sisters I can take, Gran.  After all, they are OURS."  Matilda frowned.  "I DO like most of your coven, Gran, but is the Maeve Monster coming?"

"Yes, yes, she is.  She's making her famous three whiskey ginger cake."

"That cake is NOT good enough for me to tolerate Maeve, the Wicked Witch Of The East.  She's so obnoxious!  Just because she runs "Morvyn's Roost" in Salem doesn't mean a thing to me."

"Well, you have to admit that a bar with a witches boutique and herb shop attached to it IS a novel idea.  It's been extremely successful, especially since she got that local band playing there on the weekends.  What's the name of it?  Hmmm...  Yes, ---'Wild Ratchet'.  You certainly are there enough when they're playing."

"I like their music," Matilda countered.  "And, the place is jumping then."

"Of course."  Grandma smiled.

But I scowled, folding my arms on my chest.  "I positively hate it that I'm only sixteen!  I have no fun!"

Grandma hugged me and I was briefly smothered in silk and Parisenne cologne.  "You will grow up fast enough, my little Tatiana!  Once you reach thirty-five you turn around once or twice, then you're fifty and in your crone years!"

"Being older hasn't slowed you down, Gran,"  Matilda smirked.  "Is Paul coming to Lammas too?"

Paul was Grandma's longtime lover.  She met him years ago at a Witches Rights Rally.  He's one of those older guys who has taken care of himself his whole life, so that now in his sixties he was craggy handsome with lots of silver hair usually worn in a supple ponytail or a single braid, like a thick cable, down his back.  Paul had a tall v-shaped body with an amazingly defined chest and back and wicked dark green eyes lit with his unique kicky sense of humor.  He always reminds me of how Sean Connery looked in the movie, "Medicine Man".  Paul has the same sort of husky deep, musical voice and he always smells faintly and deliciously of old fashioned bay rum.  Yeah, Paul Kazakov was a very hot guy, but instead of being a Scot he was Russian, originally from Minsk.  I could definitely understand why Grandma adored him.

She sighed loudly and dramatically.  "No, my sweet Paul won't be coming.  He will be in Boston meeting with other contractors considering that big apartment complex near Newsome Heights.  Too bad, too bad..."

"Yeah, Gran, too bad."

"Well, let's go inside, girls.  Conchetta should have lunch ready soon.  I suggested chicken enchiladas, Caesar salad and fudge ripple ice cream with cinnamon sugared almonds."

"Slushy Margaritas, I hope?," Matilda asked.

"That can be arranged, I'm sure, Darling."  Grandma smiled at Matilda.

"Our wonderful homemade root beer for you, Tatiana," she added.

"Sure, sure, sure..."  I kicked at a twig on the walkway, mildly irritated.  "I'm such a child, an 'enfant terrible'.  I switched to a French accent.

Grandma hugged me.  "Not at all, Dear.  You're just young and an unpredictable little witch."