There’s a witch who lives in the woods, and every time she strolls into town I can’t help but stare.

Her face is too square, her nose broad, and her eyes like wet swamps that seem to see anything.

On Thursday I’m loading up the car when the wind picks up, bringing with it her and her ugly broomstick.

She’s wearing a dress that is obviously handmade, showing a slither of red tights. Her hair is pinned back severely, adorned with a pair of brown goggles that make her look like a frog.

I never know her name, not like I care anyways. But given the long coat with flowers sticking out of the buttonholes, and the fact that she always has dirty hands with filth under her nails, I can imagine it’s something plant-related.

Not to mention how she walks, like she’s tip-toeing across wire, always careful not to bump her broom into things.

I don’t get why people aren’t chasing her away, or at least ignoring her, but they seem to brighten as she enters a room.

I caught her giving a pendant to someone once, carefully unraveling it from a silk handkerchief. She must be cursing people, that’s why they all like her too - wide smile and the perpetual smell of grass that follows her wherever she goes.

She’s straddling her broom now, and catches my glare. With one wave of her dirty hand, she smiles that infuriating smile again, and then rises gently into the air.

I get into my car and turn the engine, catching her retreating into the clouds in my mirror.