Autumn magic

Christmas is celebratory, fairy-lit and fattening, Spring makes the heart swell with expectation from the sight of swollen tree buds, woodland flowers and emergent ducklings and Summer gives light, warmth and opportunity to paddle in streams and wear impractical floral sundresses on the school run. Autumn, however, is my FAVOURITE.

Since I was a little girl, the run up to Halloween was, for me, a time of excitement. Back then, few families around where I lived actually indulged in trick or treating and my mother certainly didn't consider it a good thing. However, this did not diminish my interest and diversion into "playing" magic, folklore and witchy ways. Well do I remember commandeering an old casserole pot for a cauldron and spending hours down the garden making "potions" out of leaves and berries and sticks and such ( never would I have entertained eye of newt, tongue of bat or even essence of slug as I simply couldn't, and still can't, bear cruelty to animals).

Normally, I dressed appropriately for spell making: old laddered tights, a long dark skirt my Nan ran up for me to play dressing up in, a black jumper, welly boots, a homemade cloak and, always, The Hat. One noteable day, my mother happened upon, and decided to buy, A Real Broomstick. It had a shiny, gnarled handle (presumably hewn from an enchanted tree, I would guess now Ygaddrasil or The Whomping Willow) and a thick bundle of uneven, knobbly twigs at the tail, bound by wire and wicker. I was convinced of its magical properties (still am) and would leap astride and kick off from the ground as hard as I could in the belief that, at some point, the latent magic would suddenly sweep us up into the darkening afternoon sky. I never stopped believing it could happen. I'd try it again now if I knew where that broom was.