Afternoon Coven

On my walk home from school, I encountered three young girls kneeling on the dirt path, huddled in a circle. In the shade of the overgrown scrub trees, their heads were down and faces hidden. While their bodies blocked whatever decay lay in the center, there was little doubt of their social deviance.

Oh my, I thought of this cultish ritual. So sad that children have turned to the macabre. I blame the internet. Whatever it is they are doing out of earshot of their parents, they learned it on Youtube. 

Feeling sure they wouldn't want to be caught in this dark act, I played it cool: "Hi, ladies." Yet they were unfazed by my presence. 

Their smiles widened as they announced proudly, "We're burying the remains of our snow man!" One went on to explain the discovery of his sad little frayed hat and ragged scarf beneath the pine needles that fell this season. Instead of snow flakes. "Poor thing. He didn't have one chance."

So no, they weren't torturing fire ants. Nor were they coaxing evil spirits from a half dead toad. Instead, they were mourning the absence of this year's winter, paying their respects with a gravestone and newly bloomed magnolia blossoms. I wasn't that far off--they were playing with something dead after all--but Google doesn't brew that kind of magic. 

Maybe our neighborhood Wiccans can conjure winter's resurrection. If so, they'll have one more follower. 

But ladies, please, not until next year.