A Short Silly Summer Witchy Story

8/12/2019 A Short Silly Summer Witchy Story

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A light breeze played round her ankles, making them the coolest part of her body.

Every few minutes it managed to extend up under the kaftan hem and wash past her shins, butreally, it was a pathetic attempt. There was no relief from the engulfing heat. And it was 9 o’clockin the evening, for heaven’s sake. The sun was setting, the sky beginning to blush and a lone

blackbird was chirping its final report of the day, but there was still no useful decline in thetemperature.

Summer was beginning to outstay its welcome.

It is true, as a season, summer has its advantages. It is good to dash out of the front door without

first blundering about in search of an umbrella, and eating ice-cream in the street now feels less

slatternly, but when night time temperatures fail to fall to comfortable levels then it couldn’t be

surprised if its popularity waned.

Witchy was sitting on the veranda of her summer house. Behind her, inside, was a linen covered

table with bowls of untouched coleslaw, curling sandwiches and empty Cava bottles. She wouldclear up later; or more likely tomorrow. The lunch with friends had been a success (chat, laughter,

party tricks). A couple of hours ago they had all gone home to sober up, and now she was alone

nibbling a prawn and gazing contemplatively out over her lawn.

Growing impatient with the heat she pulled the kaftan up over her knees, but there was no great

improvement. After flicking the discarded prawn tail towards the table she picked up the hem and

wafted it vigorously up and down in the manner of a can-can dancer. That was better, at last coolair reached her thighs. Not wanting to make too much effort in this heat she stopped and let the

fabric fall on the top of her thighs so that her legs were bare. Relieved, she relaxed back in her chair

and brazenly widened her sturdy knees, to pleasant effect.

The blackbird had finished singing. All sounds now were distant ones. As the sky turned the green

of a deep ocean her garden darkened and drew inwards. Half-glimpsed bats flitted through the

humid air. This was the magical moment when the glare and noisy corporeality of the daytransitions into the soft mystery of a warm night. It drew Witchy from her seat, away from the

summer house and out onto the wide expanse of the lawn.

Earlier amongst all the preparation for the lunch the grass had been cut into Wimbledon-quality

stripes. The blunt blades of grass now felt like many sharp knives stabbing the souls of her naked

feet. The sensation was painfully ticklish and she winced and laughed with each step. Making

slow deliberate progress she stepped onwards and finally stopped in the approximate centre.

It was now dark; the last rays of sunlight had slipped away leaving a purple star-filled sky. Yellow

light flickered from a candelabrum in the summer house but it couldn’t reach far. Witchy stood in

a pool of darkness. The scent of lavender and liquorice-sharp fennel drifted over from the herbgarden, a last reminder of hot sunshine. To either side normally distinct plants melted into

indistinct shadows. Ahead, beneath the ha-ha, a field of ruminating cattle settled for the night.

Beyond them the landscape opened out into plains of harvested wheat fields and soft hills on adistant horizon.



It occurred to her she was quite alone, apart from the indifferent cows and the blind bats. No one

could see her.

A second daring thought followed.

She spun around, looking hard into the shadows. No, there was no one nearby.

Dare she?

Why not?

Quickly she crossed her wrists, grabbed hold of the kaftan and whipped it over her head. Then

threw it onto the grass with a dramatic flourish any stripper would be proud of.

A firm gust of air rushed in, licking round her shoulders and waist. That was definitely better.

Nakedness was obviously the way to deal with a recalcitrant summer. Smiling she raised her

arms high to let her armpits join in the fun.

Nakedness? But what of her underwear?

After furtively looking around to confirm her isolation (there was the sound of a van on the lane, but the hedges were thick) she took everything off.

How risqué; how child-like.

The freedom was delicious. She jiggled up and down for a while - just for a laugh - then ran

around in ever increasing circles.

Unfortunately Witchy didn’t have a swimming pool. It was a problem she kept meaning to solve

but every year went by without her getting round to having one built. You know how it goes? It

would have been good to go skinny dipping in the dark. There was a pond, but she didn’t want totraumatize the fish, and wasn’t sure what lived on the bottom of it. However, there was a

Kew-quality hose in the walled garden.

Emboldened she trotted over the lawn, hopped down the gravel paths and snuck into the even

darker and colder garden. To be honest she was no longer hot and had already decided to go back

indoors after this and put some nice warm pyjamas on and have a cup of tea, but she was

determined to finish this silliness first. She trailed around the raised beds in search of the businessend of the hose, and then had to retrace its length to get to the tap.

This was going to be cold; really cold. Do It!

Holding the hose over her head she turned the tap on. The cold water hit hard. She let out a scream

and instinctively pulled the hose down. Water gushed round her feet turning the path to mud.

Gasping, shoulders hunched, hair clinging to her back she was a different creature to the elegantlydressed, well-balanced woman her friends had had lunch with. Yet, she knew, given similar



circumstances, they would have done the same. Just for them she hosed herself one more time.

Suddenly, her doorbell rang out into the quiet. Who could that be? Given her current state ofdishabillé there was no way she was going to answer the door. Moving from one shrub to another

she tip-toed towards the front of the house to spy on who she was disappointing.

The Ocado man! Of course, the van had been her pre-arranged food delivery. She hesitated, wentto dash back to her clothes, but it was too late. The van drove away.

Which all goes to explain why Witchy had a bowl of coleslaw for her breakfast next day and nother customary All-bran.

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A Short Silly Summer Witchy Story