“The late spring sun had yet to set and lent a surreal aura to the rainbow of colors woven about the monolith. Armen sat next to her, holding court about their harrowing escape from the clutches of Wendy Newlin. If Bonnie had to estimate, she’d be forced to say she was reserving less than twelve percent of her attention for Armen. The rest she gave over to the impressive maypole which towered over them all in the Griffith’s front yard. Here she sat at a long picnic table sharing corn bre...ad and watermelon with a slew of witches, and truth be told she felt right at home. She’d had very little to do with the maypole’s creation. That was the work of Rhiannon, Ali, Jesse, Winston, and those witches whose names she knew she could bring to the forefront of her brain if she cared enough to try. Still, something magical had transpired in the weaving of the long rib-bons. Then there’d been the singing, welcoming the goddess back from her long winter’s repose, asking for her blessing on the coming year.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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