Photograph by Lisa Shambrook (from my calendar!)
Some thought she was a witch, others thought she was gypsy, she didn’t care what anybody thought, as long as people stayed away.
The cabin was out in the back of the woods, and she had few visitors, if any, which was just how she liked it.
People could gossip and talk as much as they liked, providing they kept themselves out of her business, and they did, on both counts.
She kept herself to herself, coming into town just twice a week to collect supplies and trade. She grew vegetables that surpassed any grown in the region, and flowers, and made tinctures, tonics and sweet wine.
The old women watched her with wrinkled wisdom, the middle-aged women with envy and the young with curiosity. The old men, middle-aged and young men…just watched.
A young girl living alone was a danger, they’d say…and they should have been right.
Such was her beauty that some men made it through the forest in the deep of night, just for a sight of the maiden or for other unsavoury reasons, but rarely did any make it back without scratches and wounds and tales of a voracious hound, and some didn’t make it back at all.
She danced as dawn crept over the horizon, sang as she worked, and wandered through the woods in search of plants. As night fell and the moon rose high in the indigo sky she returned home, and nothing worried her.
They townsfolk were right she should have been vulnerable, but for the wolf that lay across her doorstep every night.
And every full moon she left her door wide open and the wolf crept up the stairs and into her bedroom, and under the silver rays her husband was hers, just for the night…
Day Twelve: December - Moon
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