Here we go with today’s Sunday Whirl, wordle # 376.
A lone strand of silk hung from the single light which stopped the night from being pitch black.
Her stick stood in the corner promising to fly at midnight, putting any modern machine to shame.
In years to come, witches would yearn for the magic of familiars and broomsticks.
They would talk of their final journey and miss the gathering of the covens on Halloween when they would all sing to the moon.