Return to the Cozy Witch Café.
It feels like only yesterday you walked the winding path into the woods towards the Cozy Witch Cafe.
You'd been meaning to visit sooner.
But life's done what life's good at doing,
And got in the way.
You promised yourself you'd nip in half a dozen times,
But.
.
.
He never got round to it.
Today though,
You had to make time to treat yourself.
The flyer on your doormat earlier this week promised a whole new section inside the cafe.
Dedicated to books and games.
Plus,
There would now be live events on certain days.
Your first thought.
As to wonder how on earth they would fit it inside the cafe.
It was a quaint,
Higgledy-piggledy sort of establishment,
With tables,
Stools and armchairs crammed into every available space.
But you supposed the magic would probably take care of that.
As you turned the corner past a thick gnarled oak tree,
You got the answer to that question.
The cafe was the same toadstool shape.
But now,
A larger section of toadstool with a smaller cap was growing out of the side of it.
The broomstick station was in the same spot as before.
To hold on to witch's transport,
Just like bicycles in the mundane world.
The feeling of warmth and anticipation bubbled up in your chest.
Just as it had the first time you came.
And you couldn't wait to get inside.
As you neared the doorway.
The sound of a stringed instrument caught your ears as it tinkled out of the open window.
The familiar spiced scent mingled with it and invited you to enter.
The skylight shone shafts of bright light down onto the trailing ivy plants,
And caught little twinkles on the various potion bottles and jars on the shelving behind the counter.
The wizened old owl sat on his perch,
Exactly where he had been last time.
Eyeing everyone up.
His gaze now fixed upon you.
You assess the cafe and notice that there were still just as many tables with all manner of folks sitting around them.
Only most of them had spun their chairs to watch the bard.
As he captivated his audience with a story.
And what appeared to be a kind of mandolin cradled in his lap.
You spotted a comfy looking low padded chair with a little footstool in front of it.
And decided to order at the counter first.
Last time you didn't try the food,
Just the delicious apple cider by The Cracking Fire.
This time it's far too warm for that.
So you're excited to give the summer menu a go.
Speaking of which,
You only just clocked the fresh,
Cool air emitted from the blue fire in the fireplace this time.
Very clever magic with all these warm bodies in one place.
The smiling witch greeted you from behind the counter.
His beard tied back into a fancy braid and swung over his shoulder as he served up a slice of sparkling apple pie to the person already waiting.
He gestured to the menu board.
An ever-changing blackboard written in enchanted chalk.
Showing all food and drink being served today.
Dreamy dandelion and burdock Confidence cola float,
Laughing lavender smoothie,
And the cakes and savoury bakes sounded incredible,
As you could also see from the displays.
Pies that shimmered with magic,
Cakes and tarts made from magical fruits and aromatic spices that filled your nostrils You selected one of the savoury pastry things.
It's crescent moon shaped pastry,
Golden and shining.
And the filling overflowing from the side,
All tempting savoury smells and succulent roasted veg.
The witch agreed that you'd made an excellent choice,
Especially as this batch had just come out of the oven.
It took you a little longer to select the drink you fancied,
But you decided on a moonbeam milkshake.
Apparently it ends up tasting a bit different to everyone,
But always delicious.
And it comes with a fancy little moon charm that you can keep.
You waited a moment while the witch made it fresh for you.
And step to one side to let the people behind you order.
While you waited,
You nibbled a few crumbs from your pastry and took a look around to see what's changed.
The overall feeling is the same.
It's still cosy,
Quaint,
And exactly the kind of place you could easily see yourself nodding off in a chair.
Now,
Though,
There's a whole new section that's lined with the same kind of rustic shelving they used behind the counter.
And a few racks too,
Displaying all manner of books,
Magical and mundane by the looks of things.
And displaying tabletop games,
Decks of tarot and playing cards,
Plus writing sets and puzzles.
You resolved to have a nose when you'd taken your stuff over to the little chair that was still unclaimed.
You slung your bag onto the low table next to the comfy chair and popped your drink and plate down next to it.
You'd still got your wallet in hand and you'd need it after having a glance at what's for sale.
You picked your plate back up and let your feet carry you over to the new shelves before you'd even properly decided to.
The wood here was the same rustic,
Sanded oak as the counter.
One smooth in places where hands before yours had trailed along the spines of books,
Browsing just like you were now.
Some of the covers were bound in cracked leather,
With titles stamped in gold.
Others were plain and soft.
Clearly well loved.
The sort of paperback that had been read by a fire more than once.
A low basket held loose decks of tarot and playing cards,
Ribbons trailing from a few of them.
Beside it sat a stack of puzzles in boxes illustrated with impossible looping landscapes.
Wooden dice,
In inky blues and mossy greens.
Filled a shallow little dish like sweets.
You didn't really need anything,
But there was this little book of pressed flower bookmarks that caught your eye.
Soft blues and lilacs laminated between thin card.
And you tucked one under your arm,
Deciding you'd pay before you sat down properly.
The witch behind the counter took your coin with a wink.
Told you that particular bookmark like lavender tea,
Whatever that meant.
And you carried your things back to the low chair with the footstool.
You sank into it properly,
The cushion giving under you just like it had helped a hundred tired happy people before you.
The Bard's song had changed into something slower and more melodic now.
It created a backdrop for all the quiet conversations going on.
And you let your shoulders drop as you listened.
And pected your pastry.
It was the table beside you that spoke first.
A huddle of chairs pulled close together.
A scatter of little painted figures and papers and a well-thumbed notebook in the middle of them.
A woman with moss-green hair and ink-stained fingers looked up.
And asked you like it was nothing at all.
Whether you fancy joining them.
Apparently.
They were a player short,
She said.
And you looked,
If you didn't mind her saying so.
Like exactly the sort of person who would fit right in.
Allah.
A little surprised.
And admitted actually you've never really played anything like this before.
That only seemed to delight them further.
A broad,
Softly-furred fellow with tea-brown fur and small round spectacles budged his chair along to make room for you,
And told you not to worry about a single thing.
Everyone at the table had been exactly where you were once.
Staring blankly at a sheet of paper with numbers on it that meant nothing yet.
He said it wasn't about knowing the rules.
It was about wanting to try and let the dice and the story figure out the rest.
They would all help you along whenever you needed it.
So,
You budged your chair.
Plate balanced on your knee.
And let them talk you gently through it.
You picked a name for your character.
You had a few numbers on a scrap piece of paper that apparently meant you were quite good at climbing things and terrible at keeping secrets.
Someone pressed a dye into your palm and told you to just roll it when it felt right.
And that was,
More or less,
How the rest of the afternoon went.
The story that you all built together,
Wound and looped in directions nobody could have planned.
A locked door.
A suspiciously friendly goat.
A bridge that only appeared when nobody was looking at it.
And you found yourself laughing properly.
The kind of belly laugh that catches you by surprise.
Drinks were refilled.
Someone passed round a plate of the shimmering little tarts from the counter.
And you all shared them,
Crumbs gathering on the table between the dice.
The bard kept playing behind it all.
Soft and unhurried.
And every so often,
You'd catch a phrase of the tune weaving itself quite by accident.
Into whatever the moss-haired woman was narrating.
As if setting the scene accidentally.
You lost track of time completely.
The light through the skylight had gone all soft and gold by the time your group's little story reached the end.
Everyone was talking over each other about what they'd do differently next time,
Already,
Before you'd even packed the dice away.
Nobody wanted to be the first to leave.
You gathered your things slowly,
Reluctantly.
The tea-brown fellow pressed a scrap of paper into your hand with a scribbled note on it.
Same time,
Same table,
Next week,
If you fancied it.
And the moss-haired woman told you,
Quite firmly,
That you were not allowed to say no.
And he didn't want to.
Outside,
The path through the woods was dim and blue with early evening.
Making everything feel folded in and safe.
The cafe glowed warm behind you.
Windows Gold.
The last thread of the bard's music following you a little way down the path before it faded.
Your feet were tired,
Your chest still warm with full easy contentment.
That came from an afternoon spent making new friends.
A promise to return,
A little pressed flower bookmark tucked safe in your pocket.
And as you walked slow toward home.
You found yourself already looking forward to next week.
Already half asleep on your feet.
With the happy heavy tiredness of a very good day.
Ready.
When you finally climbed into bed.
To drift off almost the moment.
Your head found the pillow.
