|View of the salt marsh through the tall grasses at Rocky Neck State Park, Connecticut.|
30 September 2015
24 September 2015
For years Granny Weatherwax had been contented enough with the challenge that village witchcraft could offer. And then she’d been forced to go travelling, and she’d seen a bit of the world, and it had made her itchy -- especially at this time of the year, when the geese were flying overhead and the first frost had mugged innocent leaves in the deeper valleys.
She looked around the kitchen. It needed sweeping. The washing-up needed doing. The walls had grown grubby. There seemed to be so much to do that she couldn’t bring herself to do any of it.
There was a honking far above, and a ragged V of geese sped over the clearing. They were heading for warmer weather in places Granny Weatherwax had only heard about.
It was tempting.
Excerpt from Maskerade by Terry Pratchett