Remembering a Witch by Lauren Connolly

Author:Lauren Connolly [Connolly, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub

5

Graham

Fenella takes the lead on the trail, and I’m happy to act as the caboose. For one, I get to admire her round butt and toned legs as she climbs over roots and navigates the dirt path. But also, it’s better if she sets the pace.

Surrounded as we are by nature, pure energy thrums through my veins. I’m barely able to keep from running through the forest just for the sheer joy of it.

Plus, I’m practically giddy from this morning. Breakfast with Virginia—as Fenella’s mom insisted I call her—went great. She didn’t have the look of a woman who pitied a man about to be broken up with by her daughter. The entire time, Virginia grinned at me, told embarrassing stories about my girlfriend as a moody teenager, and plied me with heaps of scrambled eggs and bacon, claiming I’d need my strength for the trek.

But I could’ve had a simple slice of toast for breakfast and still have felt supercharged. The plants themselves nourish me.

I let my touch trail over bark and leaves, reveling in the thrum of power. Tendrils of magic snake out from the tips of my fingers, and I’m confident this area of the woods will likely be the last to descend into the chill of autumn.

In late September, the Blue Ridge Mountains continue to glitter green. But when fall comes to the forest, the mountain sides will fade into an elaborate quilt of oranges and reds.

After a few hours and a long ascent, we break through the trees. I’m briefly disoriented by the dramatic shift of views. A moment ago, I could barely see ten feet in front of me, surrounded as we were by the dense foliage. Now, I can gaze for miles.

“McAfee Knob.” Fenella smiles at me over her shoulder. Then, she slides her backpack off and walks unencumbered onto the large rock outcrop.

The ledge is spacious, and we’re not the only ones who’ve made the climb. A middle-aged man sits cross-legged with his eyes closed, seeming to meditate. A pair of girls laughs and takes turns snapping photos of each other with the vast expanse of woods acting as a glorious background. Fenella maneuvers around them, getting closer to the edge than I find entirely comfortable.

My bag hits the ground beside hers, and I follow.

Lucky for me, I’m not scared of heights or else I might hyperventilate at the drop-off. Fenella stands still, mere feet from the edge, gazing out at the rolling mountains covered in their wooded blankets.

“This is amazing,” I speak quietly to keep from startling her.

Fenella tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear that the strong breeze tugged free. “I always forget how far you can see.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into me. The beauty of the moment intensifies my need to connect with her. To know that we aren’t temporary.

The wind picks up around us as I tilt her chin for my searching kiss. She tastes like the peanut butter granola bar she had as a snack, and hints of her rose-water perfume tickle my nose.

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