I received a text from downstairs asking if I might be troubled for a moment with a phone call. Our neighbor needed to borrow something.
A cup of sugar?
A power drill?
A spot of rum?
"A small dish for consecrating salt, please."
Under normal circumstances, this request would easily be accommodated. However, having just completed our move, we could not find such an item. There was a brief panic until I remembered the pretty earthenware sake set boxed away above the refrigerator. A cup. Perhaps this will work.
Hubby trailed me as I carried the small, speckled compromise downstairs. The door was ajar. Beyond it, the room was filled with Witches wielding swords & smudge sticks. There was much busy-ness & making of smells & sounds. An overflowing altar glittered from the center of the room. I waded into the kitchen & handed him the little cup.
Upon returning to our own kitchen upstairs, Hubby turned to me with a wry grin,
"Our neighbors are weird."
One of the real joys of living so close to "weird neighbors" is sometimes they let you in on something very special.
Like fresh, homemade lemon curd.
Or insightful divinations.
Or sacred fires.
|Fire, fed by three wise, wild women.|
A toast to weird neighbors! May they continue to borrow strange objects, wave swords & set fire to rocks...
...perhaps we should check on the insurance policy.