2 A Swirl of Leaves

The next morning, after she'd helped her mom build the garden beds and the trellises for the beans, she went inside and laced up her hiking boots. She was rolling her hair into a bun when her mom walked in.

"You're sure you don't want me to go with you?" Brenda asked. "I could always get the compost later."

"The faster you get it in the beds, the faster you can put the plants in it," Josie reminded her, looking at the seedlings that were sitting on the patio table.

"Just don't be too long. You're sure you've got everything?"

Josie rolled her eyes, but opened up the bag she'd packed, "Phone, matches, lunch, compass, knife." She patted the bag, as she closed it.

"Gun," her mom reminded her, taking the rifle down from the rack on the wall.

"Yes, gun," she sighed, slinging it over her shoulder.

The second week they'd been there, she and Josie had driven to the local bait shop and gotten a Louisiana hunting and fishing license. As Brenda said, "You can't live in the woods in Louisiana without a hunting license." She'd been hunting before but always hated killing animals, even if it seemed to her a much more humane way of getting meat than buying the processed stuff that spent the last few miserable months of its life on a feedlot. There was something about watching the life leave a creature's eyes that always sat heavy on Josie's heart.

She slung the rifle over her shoulder and the bag over the other one. "I'll be back before supper."

"Okay, be careful."

It didn't take long for the brightness of the morning sunlight to be blotted out by the thick growth of the forest. It took some time for her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but as soon as they did, the grayish blanket that the shadows had originally seemed became a wonderland, with dewy moss glistening. The delicate lace of spider webs was enchanting. She walked deeper and deeper into the woods for a half hour before she came to a dried out creek bed. Looking around, she saw that outside of a few songbirds, there was no one to see her.

She stared down at the exposed roots of the tree on the opposite bank. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she slowly released it through her lips. The dirt around the root began to tremble as she raised her hands. It felt to her as though the air was wrapped around her fingers, like invisible puppet strings. Slowly, carefully, she moved her fingers as though unwinding an invisible skein of yarn. As she did, the roots unwound, slowly forming a bridge across the bed. With one more look around, she carefully put a foot on the bridge and tested it. When she got to the middle, she looked down and twisted some roots around her legs, securing her to the bridge. Like an elevator, the root bridge moved down. When it touched the ground, she released her legs and stepped off into the bed of leaves. Looking up, she saw that unless someone knew where she was, they wouldn't likely find her down there.

It had been just after her 16th birthday when she discovered her strange powers. She knew that no one would have believed her if she would have told them, and honestly, she hardly believed them herself. It had happened when she'd gone on a camping trip with some of her friends at Wrangell-St. Elias National Park and Preserve. She'd broken off from the group to explore the foothills of a mountain where the winter's snow hadn't melted yet, even though the spring sun was already hot. Normally very aware of her surroundings, she's gotten distracted looking at a pair of purple butterflies dancing around each other, which was the last thing she remembered before a sudden crashing sound. It was as though the sun had suddenly been extinguished and the earth had turned to water. She plunged into the dank darkness, falling hard into thick muck and roots with a jolt of blinding pain as her left ankle snapped. Looking up, she saw the butterflies still dancing in the pale sunlight far above her before she passed out. When she came to, she managed to pull herself standing on her good leg; but try as she might, she wasn't able to reach the roots that were above her. There was no way she could have climbed the slimy walls even if her ankle hadn't been broken. She screamed, but no one heard her. The mire beneath her feet had seeped into her boots and soaked her jeans. Over and over again, she had to push terror back, knowing that it would accomplish nothing. Hours passed. Her voice was hoarse from screaming. She stared up at the roots just out of her reach, then upwards, to the flecks of sunlight peering through the thick leaves.

A deep longing rose up in her, and even knowing that she would be unable to reach them, she stretched out her hands, focusing all her will on the roots above her. When they first started to move, she thought she was hallucinating. Clearly, it was the pain and the cold. Perhaps it was hypothermia taking hold. But soon there was no mistaking it; her hands were grasping those roots. From beneath her feet, the ground swelled, and slowly she found herself rising out of the hole. When she reached the top, she pulled herself up and staggered away from what had been a gaping pit, now a mere dip in the ground. There was no way, she thought.

She was halfway to the campsite, hobbling on a makeshift crutch when her friends had found her, covered to the mud. There was a faraway sound in her voice as she replied, "I fell in a hole, but it's okay, I climbed out." It felt as though someone else was speaking.

That night, she lay in the back seat of her friend's dad's van as they rushed to the hospital. Everyone else but the driver was sleeping. She stared out at the stars, thinking. Perhaps it was one of those moments where mind triumphed matter. After all, there were cases of panicked people lifting cars off their loved ones by themselves, or people having premonitions of accidents they were barely able to avoid. She'd always written these off as the testimonies of already superstitious people, but there was no way she could claim that for herself. If she was devoted to anything, it was skepticism. Perhaps, she thought, it was that she had panicked when she fell and didn't stretch as far as she could have otherwise. That didn't seem logical either, though. When she left the hole, it had been a mere foot or so below the rest of the ground, only enough to have tripped over, really.

It wasn't until several weeks later that she was brave enough to try anything again. Sitting in the living room of their apartment, she focused on some orchids her mother had given her as a get well present after she'd gotten her ankle reset. For a long time, the plant did nothing; not that that surprised her. She began to think that perhaps she'd just imagined the earth having rescued her. Then, just as she was about to stop, there was a strange electric feeling in the pit of her stomach, and it felt as if rubber bands had been twisted around her fingers. The leaves of the plant began to move towards her. When she reached out her fingers to touch them, and the whole stalk leaned towards them as though it were drawn by static electricity. Most shockingly, when her leaves touched the plant a foreign thought entered her mind, one she was sure was not her own. It wasn't really a phrase, but more a feeling of gratitude and connectedness. As she moved her fingers away, the thought subsided. Stunned, she reached out again, and the thought reentered her mind.

Ever since that day, she'd gone off by herself several times a month to practice. Even though it seemed very unlikely that there would ever be a day when she felt enough at ease with her skills to show her mother, telling her about it without showing her anything would be even more laughable. She could imagine, with very minimal effort, her mom carting her off to the insane asylum after that proclamation.

So she stood at the bottom of the creek bed and practiced manipulating the roots. They were the roots of old trees; their thoughts were placid, yet deep. They moved reluctantly. Then she bent some of the young sapling trees down in to meet her, their thoughts were like those of a small child playing outside in the rain for the first time. She made them dance, swirling branches dipped down into the creek to brush against her fingers before they swooped back up again. Last, she did one of her favorite things. She made the leaves dance. The leaves had no thoughts, but their faint energy was still there, pulsing softly. She raised her hands and lifted the dried leaves around her; pushing and pulling them she turned them into a river full of rapids. It was as though a strong, undetectable wind swept through them. She caused them to spiral around her, creating formations like hearts and teacups and then dashing them into each other. She cast the leaves out in long waves, making them ripple down until the first bend of the creek bed, and then circle back to her.

"That's quite a trick."

Josie leapt back. The leaves followed her vision upwards, flying in the face of her intruder. They fluttered down, as though autumn had come earlier than usual. As they cleared, she saw Miriam smiling down at her.

"I was just..." Josie bit her bottom lip; there was no really good explanation for what she was just doing.

Miriam chuckled, "Playing with the leaves." Without another word, she leapt down into the air, but rather than falling, she floated as though she weighed no more than one of those leaves.

Josie stared, her eyes growing larger until Miriam stood right in front of her. "You're," Josie's hands shook, and her hairs all stood up, "you're just like me."

"A witch? Yes."

"But, I'm not a witch," Josie said instinctively looking about to see if anyone else were listening.

"And what, pray tell, would you call yourself then, love?" Miriam's voice was warm and maternal as she cocked her head slightly to the side, waiting.

"I'm," Josie paused, thinking of a good word, "I don't know, maybe telekinetic or, like, a mutant, or something."

Miriam chuckled again, "Yes, there have been many words used to describe us through the centuries, 'wise ones,' 'healers,' 'magicians,' 'telepaths,' 'psychics,'" she raised an eyebrow and added, "psychotics. I could go on, but you see, no matter how you label yourself, you are magical."

"Well, I don't really believe in magic."

"It doesn't look like it much cares whether you believe in it or not," Miriam said sagely as she, seemingly absent-mindedly, made several leaves dance around her hand.

Josie scowled. "Well, it's not like I asked for it or anything."

"Are you sure about that?"

Josie thought back to those terrifying moments in the hole. She knew that if she were honest with herself, she would admit that she had wished for something impossible and magical to happen.

Miriam looked imploringly at her.

"Well, I suppose I sort of did..."

"... in a moment of extreme desperation."

"Well, see, I'd fallen in this really deep hole, and no one was around. It was about to be dark, and it was freezing. I'd broken my ankle." She almost swore in exasperation but bit her tongue.

"Completely understandable."

"But it's not like I studied books or went through some crazy ritual or anything," Josie half-pleaded.

"Life has a funny way of developing its own rituals, love. But I understand what you mean; it was not something you would normally have sought out," she put her hand on Josie's arm. "The truth is, though, that if you'd wanted to, you could have stopped when you got out of the hole. There are those who do."

It was a fresh, newborn thought, and Josie felt a bit foolish for not having realized it before. Of course, she could have resisted the urge to test her powers, to practice and hone them into skills. "But, it was so," she searched for the right word, "odd. I just wanted to know I wasn't crazy. You know what I mean?"

"So, this is only the second time you've used your gifts, I assume."

"Well, no."

"I see."

"So... y-you really think... you think I'm a w-witch?" The words came out haltingly.

"As I told you before, the name you call yourself is really inconsequential."

"But you think I'm magical?"

"Yes."

Josie toed a small pile of leave litter. "Does else anyone know what you are?"

Miriam threw back her head and laughed. "Well, I don't advertise in the phone book, but a very select few know, yes."

"Does Natalie know?"

Miriam smiled sweetly, "I find it best not to reveal myself to those I live around, especially those who lack our talents."

"Oh. Are there many people like us?"

"I've come across quite a few in my day. So you see, we're not so odd really. Although," her face grew slightly stern, "I would caution you to use discretion as well when you choose to reveal yourself. Many a more powerful witch than you has fallen prey to the barbarism of the ignorant."

Josie took a deep breath, "I haven't told anyone yet. I mean, I don't think anyone would really believe me. I wouldn't believe me."

Miriam nodded. "I think you're a very level headed young lady, who will make a remarkable witch, with a bit of tutelage."

"Well, I did look online, but nothing I found was very helpful." It was the truth. She'd read things about chants and crystals, herbs and incense, but none of it seemed to do much more than give her a headache and a horrible case of sinus allergies.

With a shrug and a giggle, Miriam said, "It's always been that case; misinformation tends to abound when those who possess knowledge are too afraid to speak up, but if you'd like, I could teach you."

Josie's eyes lit up, "I would love that, but what am I going to tell Mom?"

"Oh, I think she'd be happy to hear that you got a farm job, don't you? I do have rather the menagerie."

"But only one wolf, right?" Josie shuddered involuntarily.

"Yes, love, only one wolf, and I'm sure before long, you'll find him every bit as charming as I do."

It felt odd that night, sitting together around the table, discussing her new "job offer," knowing that again she was keeping a huge secret from her mother. She wondered if her mom felt the strange electric pulse that issued off of the older woman, or even if she gave off such a signal herself.

That night, after they'd said good-bye to Miriam for what felt like the hundredth time and all the dishes were washed and put away, Brenda patted the sofa, signaling Josie to sit beside her. "Do you really want to do this? You looked a little, I don't know, worried at supper."

Josie smiled, even though her hands started to sweat, "Yeah, Mom, I really, really do. I suppose it's just that it's my first real job. I'm hoping I don't accidentally kill something by accident."

"If this is something you really, really want to do, I'm sure you'll do well. And, I think it will be a good thing for you. Who knows, maybe this will be a chance to learn a bit more about animals, and I'm sure you won't kill anything." Smiling, Brenda reaching out a hand to smooth the frizzle curls along her hairline, her fingers coming to rest on her cheek. "My little girl's growing up."

She smiled and leaned against her mother's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her waist, enjoying the comfortable familiarity, "I'm still your little girl, though."

"I know," Brenda whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I know."