(A bonding-binding spell that came of its own accord and fought to be free)

And so it goes on down the centuries and through time
We witches chant our well-worn rhyme.
At cross road and the stroke of twelve,
Into the lands of dreams we delve.

Round the steeple and back again
On twiggy broom at churches chime.
Up into the starry deep we climb
And back to the cross where old souls meet,
To greet a friend, dear and kind,
To cure, to curse, to hex, to bind.

Then to gaze at the moon with smiles so sweet,
As it's light enchants the perfumed tree.
Words from afar dance on the breeze,
To ride the wind back home again.
To stir the moon in a scrying bowl, and in a jar to hold a soul.
To bless Hecate of the Ways.
To let our blood flow into the mother.
To bury bones in a gallows hole at the parting of the days.

The dark and light we have bound as one
As the magic of the night has begun.
Spirits from afar close in; tis time to open our witches' door,
To seek the truth of the darkest night
And draw on the powers as in times before.
Hecate's children, we are in no doubt.
Our souls we offer at this lonely place.
Will She take, Will She break, will we regret?

The answer lies where four road meet,
Where the running hare is an illusion that rests home in thee
And the sistership is ever free.
Tis little price to feel the thrill,
To bind as one our witches' will.
The hallowed moon moves on a pace.
We part, we kiss, pledge to return,
Though the shadow is already in the blood
And the dark husband knows words spoken are nothing but a token.
The red thorn rose grasped long ago
And the troth already writ within.

Janis & Catherine (signed in blood)

Summer 2007