Once upon a time,
There was a witch who lived in a cottage hidden deep inside an ancient magical forest.
Every morning,
The witch would step outside and follow an overgrown forest path,
Leading to an old wishing well,
Overgrown with vines and moss.
Rare flowers in every color imaginable bloomed around the wishing well.
And the ancient trees leaned over it as though protecting an old secret.
The witch would marvel at the beauty of the wishing well.
For it was a particularly enchanting kind of wishing well.
And only the dullest sort of person would have failed to see its beauty.
And of course,
Seeing as this was a magical forest,
It had magical properties as well.
Each morning,
The witch would throw an offering into the wishing well.
Such as a lock of hair,
A gemstone,
Or a coffee bean.
Sometimes,
She would simply choose whatever she had lying about the house.
She once threw in an old sock for lack of a better idea,
But the wishing well had not seemed to mind.
Everything that the witch threw into the wishing well had a funny way of coming back to her.
In the most unexpected but delightful ways.
A tree that grew thick with sparkling gemstones had once cropped up in her backyard.
A delicious cup of coffee would sometimes be waiting for her when she got home.
Without her needing to lift a finger.
And a pair of the coziest,
Warmest socks had magically appeared next to her bed on a chilly night.
As the witch understood it,
The wishing well took whatever gift it received.
And returned it tenfold.
Or simply a whole lot better.
It was a very generous wishing well indeed.
And she considered it a dear friend at this point.
She felt that the two of them had an understanding.
And therefore she kept showing up dutifully every single morning.
She would often find herself talking or singing as she sat on the edge of the well and gazed down into its sparkling waters.
And she felt that the wishing well listened.
And appreciated the company.
She would watch the birds flying in and out of their nests up in the trees.
All the while thinking that there was nowhere else that she would rather be.
She was a very content witch,
You see.
She lived a quiet and humble life.
But she would not have had it any other way.
And most of her days were spent doing what she loved.
In the company of her beloved forest.
And the many different animals that often visited her.
She had three sweet goats in her garden that were always causing mischief when she wasn't looking.
She had a squirrel family living in her favorite oak tree,
Just outside her kitchen window.
They would often join her for breakfast and keep her up to date with all the going-ons of the forest.
And of course,
She had her very own familiar,
A dear little doe named Sally.
She had rescued Sally as a baby during a forest fire many years ago.
And it had been love at first sight.
Sally was a very helpful little doe.
She would test every potion that the witch brewed.
And every stew that she cooked.
And every pastry or pie that she bakes.
Out of sheer generosity,
Of course.
But her favorite thing to do.
Was to curl up in front of the fire and listen to the witch as she told her of the many adventures she had been on before finally settling into her cottage in the forest.
It seemed to Sally that the witch must have lived many lifetimes.
Because the stories were so varied and so vivid.
That no one person could have possibly lived quite so much.
But the witch had simply been very productive in her lifetime.
A little too productive,
She would probably admit nowadays.
Because it had not come without its price or its toll.
And one would think that as a witch,
She might have been aware of that.
She sometimes muttered to herself on the rare occasion that she found herself in a foul mood.
You see,
When the witch had first arrived at the cottage,
She had been very tired.
All of her adventures had certainly worn her out.
And she had slept for many years before one night having a dream of a beautiful wishing well.
The dream had finally woken her up.
And she had found herself walking right out of the cottage and into the forest to go find it.
The good thing about being a witch is that you can often find the things you dream about quite easily.
Even if you've never seen them before.
And it was on that very first morning that she had offered the wishing well a lock of her hair.
Again,
For lack of a better thing to throw into it.
But she had felt quite certain that throw something into it,
She must.
And so the lock of hair had become the first offering.
It was this intuitive stroke of genius that had finally given the witch her energy back.
Since the lock of hair was a piece of her.
In return,
She had been gifted more of herself.
Her very own life force that had been dormant for so long.
But I digress.
The story that I really wanted to tell you was about the fated events that took place one morning when the witch woke up feeling sad.
Sadness had once been a steady companion in her life.
But since living in the forest,
She had not been visited by it in quite some time.
Confused and a little dazed,
She stepped outside.
Her hair catching the morning light against her warm brown skin as she followed the familiar forest path toward the old wishing well.
However,
On this particular morning,
She did not feel the warmth of the sun touching her skin,
Nor did she notice the vibrant colors all around her.
And it wasn't until she finally arrived that she noticed that she had not remembered to bring an offering this time.
And yet,
All around her,
The familiar beauty of the wishing well seemed to vibrate with presence,
So tender and compassionate that it moved the witch to tears.
She felt as though the wishing well understood her pain and saw her for who she truly was underneath it.
She sat down at the edge of the wishing well and cried.
The tears came pouring down in such a flood that she realized that they must have been there all along.
Maybe she just hadn't felt safe enough to let them out until now.
She watched as her tears fell into the waters below,
One by one.
And the grief felt so deep and so primal.
That she feared she might never stop crying.
But finally,
She did.
Wiping her eyes dry,
She wondered what on earth the wishing well would return to her this time.
Perhaps a monsoon.
But she felt much better and mysteriously soothed.
So she thanked the wishing well and returned to her cottage for a nice long nap.
The next morning,
The witch awoke well-rested and content once more.
In fact,
She felt lighter and more joyful than ever before.
And felt that she practically flew down the path toward the wishing well.
But to her surprise,
There on the edge of her beloved wishing well,
There now sat a beautiful water nymph.
Braiding her long hair.
Her skin sparkled with a mysterious blue hue.
And her hair was white and soft,
Like shimmering stardust.
There was an immediate warmth in her eyes as she saw the witch approach,
And even though the witch immediately felt that she already knew the water nymph quite well,
She found herself asking who she might be.
The water nymph replied that she was the embodied living entity of the wishing well that had taken form when the witch's tears fell into the well.
You see.
Beneath the terrible grief that the witch had felt.
There was love.
Of the purest kind.
And love like that has the power to create and transform life itself.
So the witch and the water nymph rejoiced and embraced each other as old friends do.
The water nymph was especially pleased,
Because now she would actually be able to talk back when the witch came to visit her each morning.
Instead of all of that endless listening.
And the witch felt that this was perhaps the best gift.
That the wishing well had ever bestowed upon her.
Now,
You might be inclined to think that the water nymph needed to stay in the wishing well at all times.
But that would have been very boring indeed.
So,
During the day,
The witch and the water nymph would often explore the forest together.
Picking mushrooms and berries,
And swimming in the stream.
Sally the Doe would sometimes join them.
Although she was a creature of comfort and preferred not to get herself wet.
But she was perfectly happy to be fed berries whilst lying on a soft bed of grass.
She would then scrunch up her nose in annoyance when the witch and the water nymph inevitably fell into a hysterical mess of laughter on the soft grass after having splashed themselves silly in the water.
Eventually though,
They too would grow calm and serene once more beneath the warmth of the sun.
And drift into a delicious afternoon nap.
In the evenings,
They would all sit around the fire,
Grilling mushrooms and freshly caught fish.
Or enjoying a hearty stew.
With soft,
Freshly baked bread.
To Sally's delight,
They soon found out that the water nymph had plenty of stories of her own,
Too.
One does not stand around in an ancient forest for thousands of years without witnessing a thing or two.
And then at night,
The witch would bid her friend farewell as the water nymph made her way back to the wishing well.
The witch would sometimes stay out a little longer by herself.
As she still treasured her moments of solitude.
She would listen to the soft chorus of crickets and the gentle hum of the nearby stream.
Whilst gazing up at the stars as they slowly appeared.
One by one.
In the deepening sky.
The forest always seemed to grow quieter at this hour.
Not because there were fewer sounds,
But because every sound had settled exactly where it belonged.
The rustling leaves.
The distant call of now.
The crackling of the fire.
As its dancing flames slowly softened into glowing embers.
The witch would breathe it all in,
Slowly,
Deeply.
As though the whole forest were breathing with her.
Her shoulders would begin to soften.
The space between her eyebrows.
Her jaw would unclench.
Even her hands,
Which had spent so many years stirring potions,
Tending gardens,
And gathering herbs,
Would finally become still.
She had learned something rather wonderful during her years in the forest.
That peace wasn't something one needed to search for.
It was already there.
Patiently waiting beneath every breath.
And in the quiet spaces that opened up just before every inhale.
And after every exhale.
Feeling the soft wind against her skin as she continued breathing in and out.
She would extend her exhale ever so slightly.
Letting her whole body soften alongside the sounds of the forest.
The witch smiled.
She had once believed that rest was something one earned.
Now she knew that it was simply part of being alive.
The forest had taught her that.
The trees never apologized for becoming still in winter.
The flowers never hurried themselves to bloom before they were ready.
Even the moon disappeared for a while each month.
Only to quietly return again.
Everything in nature understood the rhythm of rest.
She leaned back against the old oak beside her cottage and closed her eyes.
The breeze gently brushed a loose strand of her hair.
Across her cheek.
Somewhere nearby,
Sally let out a sleepy little sigh.
And far off in the distance.
The water nymph sang a melody so soft.
It almost blended with the sound of the stream itself.
Mmmmmmm.
Mmmmmmmmm.
Mmmmm.
Mmmmm.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooo Thank you.
Mmmmm.
Good night.
Thanks for watching!
Ooooooooooooooooooooooo you Mmmmm.
For you.
Do do do do do do do.
Mmmmmmm.
Mmmmmmm.
Mmmmmmm.
Thank you and God bless.
Little by little,
The forest grew quieter.
The fire glowed a little softer.
Until it seemed that the whole enchanted forest had drifted peacefully to sleep.
