Earth is mother.
Nature is female.
Fire is father, fire is male, fire is human justice.
He isn't opposed to Earth, but they slip the one into the other.
The witch is earth's daughter.
She turns in ashes burning in the fire, so she can go back into earth's embrace, si snake's circle eternally turns.
They taught her how to read birds'flight.
And messages of leaves in the wind.
The old maid shown her the ancient stone throne worn out by tempest and rain, but full of powerful magic.
Every uneven Friday at sunset went the old maid to the throne, there at the crossing of three paths, to wash the stone with a white hen's blood to wake up earth spirit's might.
But men, intoxicated by their silly pride forgot these holy powers, so spirits with a lightning smashed their souls and illness and death slaughtered them all.
They taught her how to turn herself in a howl, and fly in moonless nights, and over the hills, and down in deep shafts, where she met her sisters, to celebrate season's jubilation.
They taught her how to change herself in a hare, to run away and hide herself in woods, from the ones who wanted to dominate her.
When the dark red blood ran slowly and thick wetted her innocence between her white thights her mother told her the time had come for her to be a daughter of the Earth.
A black haundled knife was her holy present, and she taught her to hold it, and how to take flower and herbs vibrations.
She taught her what power stood still.
In forests and woods, and hidden in deep roots.
Power of life, power of death.
But dark were those times, and finally sword prevailed on cup.
So her body was parted from her soul.
And her own children lighted her stake.
In an august day of 1471.