THE DRUIDESS

'She's a bit weird,' they said,

hurrying past her place as if being different

was somehow contagious.

A Green Man stood sentry by the front door,

and a miniature Stonehenge dominated

an unmowed, weed-conquered lawn.

Deadly nightshade and foxgloves grew profusely

along it's borders, and from the roof of her shed

hung bunches of drying herbs.

'She's either a Witch or a mad woman,' they surmised,

wondering if that freshly-dug patch of soil

might be the grave of some hapless victim.

She'd cast a spell on her next door neighbours,

they knew, because the daughter ran away;

the cat was run over; and then they split up.

That house had been on the market

for over six months as no one would touch it

because she'd been seen, they'd heard,

performing some sort of ritual in billowing robes:

wafting incense smoke over the fence

while chanting in tongues, ringing bells

and whirling like a Dervish.

'She should be locked away,' they concluded,

'from normal decent people like us:

not be allowed to roam free and corrupt

our children with her devilish ways!'

She packed her belongings and quietly departed

soon after those harsh words reached her ears.

And they patted themselves on the back with pride

for ridding their town of her evil presence.

New people live there now who tell

of amulets of love and healing they've found,

and of the tranquil atmosphere inside their home.

'She was a wonderful person - we really liked her.

We can't imagine why why she left,'

they say now, with averted eyes

and fingers crossed behind their backs.

And their words belie a nervous unease.

Do they truly believe themselves jinxed?

Or is it simply the working out

of a Universal rule that decrees:

Your every deed, whether good or ill

will return to you in kind - times ten?