THE WITCHING HOUR

They suffer but they are still alive, the man and the woman, the lovers. The old widow’s task is not yet complete. Summer is over and she feels weak and weary. Will she survive another winter? She wraps a shawl around her meagre frame and shuffles out the door. There is no need to lock it. Her stone hut is a long way from the village; besides, these days nobody approaches her threshold, nobody dares.

She hears her aged bones creak as she makes her way over the dunes to the beach. Beneath her gnarled feet the sand is pale and silky smooth. How she has yearned for a night like this: a gentle breeze, a high tide and a full moon. Such a night will renew her strength, uplift her spirit and sharpen her powers. She gazes at the ocean in wonder; she is not too late. Already her heartbeat quickens.