Barbara J. Hamby

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The Witches’ Curse

Just had a wonderful swim. When I first got in the pool, I thought I probably wouldn’t last for twenty minutes. However, the longer I stayed in, the better I felt. It had not been a good day.

An x-ray of my right foot was bad news. Arthritis above the arch has destroyed cartilage in all the joints. When I stopped for lunch, I left my purse in the sandwich shop; it was there when I returned about ten minutes later, so that part was good. There were several other little scrapes and bruises here and there on my thinning skin, and the final blow was turning on the wrong burner and setting a frying pan on fire. With the smoke alarm blaring, I grabbed a lid and put the fire out, after realizing I didn’t have a clue what to do with the fire extinguisher. A refresher course is in order there. I actually managed to cook a meal of sorts after opening all the windows and doors. The swim restored my composure.

I’m writing a whimsical little piece about witches for Halloween. I’ll take it to critique group to see if it’s a children’s story or just a filler. It feels good to actually sit down and do some writing again, even if other things need catching up.

Reflecting back on my day, I think the witches might have put a curse on me.