The Spell

 This piece of cloth is from an exquisitely made Brooks Brothers shirt. I used a magnifying glass to examine the stitching around the tiny little buttonholes on the collar and the places where French seams overlapped with no visible gain in thickness. Miraculous. Every seam perfect.

I put it on to see if it could ever be something I would wear. No. Not quite roomy enough for comfort. Perfect if I had to wear a suit and tie to work each day.  It was hard to decide where to start with the scissors. Ripping it was out of the question the cloth is so tight, so strong.

I'm glad I decided to do this post because I can already see that I don't care for the font or the layout. Too studied. Too tight. Too....Brooks Brothers.  I'll look for another piece of cloth and another hand for the lettering. The spell is the thing.

"He watched as she stalked a wide, slow circle that took her all the way around the car. She was wearing something short and black. Magic again? Without taking his eyes off her, he took off his St. Christopher and hung it from the rearview. Gripping the steering wheel, he leaned forward, mesmerized.

She stopped a few paces in front of the car. Her hands reached for the stars, then she crouched low and brushed the wet grass with her fingertips. No candles, no incense. She spoke into the darkness like it was listening.

Hear me sisters, Fire, Wind, Water and Earth, in all your names and guises.

Light the watchtowers for us. Hold back the night.

I ask cover from all quarters.

Bless us this circle and we within."

from "Prophets Tango"