The bumble bees were busy gathering pollen from the fragrant
honeysuckle flowers. Shiny black snakes slithered across the dead leaves
looking for mice to fill their empty stomachs. Birds were collecting
twigs and soft pieces of cotton left from the previous crops to make a
new nest. Water rippled down the small creek behind a small wooden
shack. Ivy wound itself around the chimney providing hiding places for
creeping spiders. Handmade straw brooms stood in the corner of the back
porch waiting to be used. A slight breeze carried the smell of food
cooking and a crackling voice could be heard in the distance. So deep in
the forest that no one dared to venture sat the home of a wicked witch.
Wilma kept to herself and was seldom seen by the town's people nearby.
Rumors were Wilma would use her powerful potions on any trespassers and
they would never been seen again.
"Hey diddle diddle the cat played the fiddle!" Wilma sang in her high-pitched voice. "I'll work and toil from dust to dawn but no one can know what is in my kettle!" She continued. "I'll spit and I'll chew but no one can brew... like the long fingers of Wilma the Black Widow Witch." She laughed as she spit a brown liquid from her wrinkled mouth.
She was cooking a brew in a round black pot that sat up off the ground on four legs. She stirred a little then turned to add frog eyes and legs. "A little of this and a little of that and I'll have a brew that will add legs to the cats." She sang as she bent to add another log to the fire. Her lean body stood tall against the deep forest trees. Her long gray hair hung loosely around her thin shoulders. Wilma was not a large woman and stood taller in her black pointed toed shoes. So pointed were they that she could corner a rat and kill him with the toe of he shoe. One had to be very quick to outsmart Wilma the black widow witch.
Above her head in a tall oak tree sat an owl with large forward facing eyes. His flat face had a hawk-like beak that was razor-sharp. It wasn't often that he came out during the day because he was most active at night. His feathers were dull gray and black making it hard to see him among the trees. Wilma had taken a fancy to the owl and named him Otis. She watched as he rotated his head almost all the way around. His black big eyes locked into place made it necessary for him to turn his head to see right or left. She admired the way he would dive suddenly from the sky and silently use his sharp talons to grab his food swallowing it whole before he landed firmly. His unique hooting sound made a very lonely sound as it reverberated from the rocks and trees.
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/6005652
>>> Ten Pest Control Tips for Deterring a Spider Invasion
