You believe you know me because we have laughed together on a golden afternoon, as the first of autumn's leaves turn gold and tumble lazily.
You do not know me until you have walked with me through
sodden leaves on a night where the wind whips sleet in your face and white-hot forks
of lightning bleed into your vision. Here, I am a witch, the child of the
storm; I stand on a hill singing to the maelstrom.
You’ve only seen me laugh. I laugh because I’ve screamed; I
smile because I’ve raged; I champion the wounded because I’ve been beaten. I
rejoice because I have survived.
You cannot honor my light without accepting my darkness.
