It was clear to all of us, even though they fought from time to time. And, even though, on closer inspection, they seemed to have nothing in common. Mama had a wildness in her, a scattered beauty. Papa thought in lines and numbers. He didn’t pay much attention to her magic. Bunny always said it was a shame. That Papa didn’t appreciate her. But Mama would hush her and use the complaint as moments to school us. Mama never missed an opportunity to gather us around her and tell us what she thought. She said every moment was a “teaching moment” and no questions should ever go unanswered. And she let us know, very early on, that though love spells existed, they should never be used. You don’t manipulate such powerful things. You simply must understand their secrets. She taught us the secret of love under the shade of the fiery red maple on a glorious October afternoon. The kind where the sun is still warm but the sky spreads out impossibly blue and hinting at winter. We were closing up the Far Rockaway cottage and eating lunch in the yard.
What do You think about The Witch Of Little Italy?
