Bones of a Witch
Kiss the Witch
Call of the Witch
Gone is the Witch (late 2012)
Water, it is always about water. Too much, too little, too deep…hell, too damn wet. Don’t get me wrong. It is not that I don’t like water, I do. I mean I drink it, I wash my face in it, I even like to watch it puddle up in the street on a rainy afternoon while sitting on the porch swing sipping iced tea.
No, the problem I have with water is that it scares the crap out of me. I read somewhere that a person can drown in only a teaspoon of the stuff. That doesn’t seem right. I know it didn’t take much more than that to almost drown me. Back when I was six-years old, I ate a peanut butter sandwich, a bag of chips and half a corndog. Then I went swimming without waiting the mandatory thirty minutes before going back in. A lifeguard pulled me out. I was all cramped up, purple and sworn to Jesus. Well, the cramped up and purple part is true, anyway.
You can probably see why then I had my reservations about going with Chip Mackenzie to watch him practice throwing his cast net. We were camping in the backwoods, six of us; Chip, Sandy Crocker, me, and three other guys from work. We pitched camp in a clearing along a stream where the water ran cold and swift. We heard the fishing was good and the stream worked great for keeping our beer cold.
I went with Chip to watch him cast his net, and to take pictures. I told him I didn’t want to stand on the rocks so close to the water.