“Come, we fly!”
― Winifred Sanderson

Before the world told me who I ought to be,
I sat in my swing set, unburdened and free.
While gazing at clouds the Goddess Nyx would appear,
with a crew full of crones calling come, be near.
I knew my own truth in those innocent days,
before I was lost in the grown-up haze.

The daylight is fading, the shadows grow long,
the nocturnal creatures are singing their songs.
I let go of societal labels, teacher and friend,
and lay myself down as the busy days end.
I exhale out the tensions from shoulders to toes,
and feel a deep calm of a happy child’s glow.
My body grows heavy, yet weightless and light,
as the ceiling dissolves into beautiful night.

I look at my broomstick of polished old oak,
and wrap myself up in a velvety cloak.
With a thrill in my chest and a leap from the floor,
the gravity holding me reigns nevermore.
I shot out the window, a spark in the dark,
gliding high over the rooftops and parks.
The Night is my canvas, the moon is my guide,
as the north wind God Boreas pulls me along his side.
We rise through the fog where it’s misty and chilly,
a cool, firm hug I feel wicked and pretty.

The air is so cold, like a blanket of ice,
till I burst through the white in a glorious light.
Into dazzling sunlight, a brilliant, bright blue,
where the peaks of the clouds look like winter time dew.
The earth down below is a patchwork of green,
the prettiest quilt that I have ever have seen.

With a 360 view of the world in my sight,
The great mountain ranges are calling out to me tonight!
I tilt my old broom as I rapidly rise,
to chase the wild winds where the golden eagle flies.
First Kilimanjaro rises out of the plain,
a crown made of ice over Africa’s reign.
I glide past its summit, so massive and grand,
before I shoot north over ocean and land
Then lethal K2 pierces into the blue,
a fortress of shadow and glittering hue.
I giggle at the frost as it brushes my shroud,
as my broom weaves through the jagged peaks, fearless and proud.
Then higher and higher, where air is so thin,
to the roof of the world where the heavens begin.
Old Everest stands in his jacket of snow,
while the rest of the planet lies dreaming below.
I hover for a moment, right over his crest,
with the child of my past beating strong in my chest.
I’ve harnessed the truth that I held as a child,
unstoppable, peaceful, untamed, and wild.
No longer confined by the rules of the crowd,
I am riding the winds, and feeling like one with the clouds.

But the night now softens, as the stars start to fade,
I turn my broom home through the path I have made. I
I drift down from mountains, through valleys of mist,
to the quiet old room that the moonlight has kissed.
My cloud-molded broom gently lowers its track,
And floats me right down to the bed softly on my back.

The walls reappear as the magic grows still,
I wiggle my toes with a lingering thrill.
The journey is over, as I open my eyes,
refreshed by my beautiful flight through the skies.
The adult may wake, but the child remains true,
for the witch I am, my heart and soul feels it too.

by Jo Fenstermacher ©2026

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photo credits: jo fentermacher ©2026

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