“Manifest with the Moon. We are water, and tonight, we will be one with the shifting waves,” said Owletta, glancing at each flickering face, hoping the seeds she planted on the new Moon would come to fruition.
“Yemaya hears our prayer,” said Willow, pushing her candle into the sand near her bare feet, reaching into her beach bag for another.
The coven sat, crossed-legged in a circle, whispering unintelligible prayers to the East wind, chanting, and beating their bare thighs like a drum. Willow swayed, lifting her arms over her head. Across from Willow, Wren threaded her long blond hair behind her ears, waiting for the East wind to blow away the cobwebs. Nettle of the North stared at the irregular star, etched into the sand between them, beating her thighs harder and jiggling her loose flesh like Gelatin. Across the circle, Owletta closed her black eyes, praying to Yemaya, Goddess of the ocean, water, and tides.
After several minutes the coven stood, breaking from the circle, collecting the water-filled mason jars, unscrewing the caps. Each Witch placed a jar in a corresponding corner of the sand-drawn star: North, East, South, and West. The moon water waited under a darkening sky.
Again, the coven formed a circle, staring at the horizon painted with a thin strip of orange. The rise of the Moon was nigh.
“Wren, your vanilla-scented candle smells cheap, like toast,” scolded Nettle.
Giggles erupted. “Someone’s coming!” said Willow.
The coven giggled louder, rushing to hide amongst the cemetery of gnarly driftwood, covering themselves with beach towels and goose-pimpled arms. “Bare skin is a Witches’ Sunday best,” said Nettle in a low voice.
The coven hid, listening to the waves until the silhouettes of two mysterious beachgoers disappeared into the night. The group took their places on the ground again, tipping the towels from their shoulders, looking to the horizon. They waited.
“Should we disperse our intentions?” asked Wren.
Owletta withdrew a tiny seashell from beneath her bare butt, throwing it towards the shore. “Yes,” she said.
The coven ransacked their beach bags, pulling handfuls of bay leaves from within. Willow came away with a single leaf, kneeling near a candle, reading the tiny message she had scribbled on the leaf in pencil. Willow kissed the leaf and stood, running towards the waves; the rest of the coven followed. Warm water washed over their feet, splashing eight legs with salty kisses. The women threw the bay leaves into the waters of Botany Bay. Simultaneously, a Full Moon crested over the horizon like the eye of a cyclops. “Look!” shouted Wren.
The coven stared, watching the disc rise, a ribbon of white flowing over the water like a coil of rope. Owletta wished she could pull it into her body, harnessing all the power of Yemaya. Owletta’s dreams for the coven felt as deep as the ocean. The Moon symbolizes my inner world, and what happens in the dark stays in the dark. She thought with a smile.
