By Zoe Moga, TIWP Student
Simon and Garfunkel quietly played as the young woman pulled on her black tights under her intricately patterned skirt that hit the middle of her shins. Layering with socks and sweaters and scarves, she hurried quickly out of her apartment, only turning back at the small studio to silently flick her wrist and stop the music from playing any longer. The woman shivered for a moment as she stepped out into the cold December air, but quickly moved on, with about a million errands on her mind. As the hours turned, she quietly slipped into forgotten alleyways and the stores that hid in plain sight, filling the canvas bag she carried on her side with little glass bottles and herbs that could only be harvested on a blue moon night. Humming quietly to herself she strolled throughout Manhattan, admiring the subtle architecture and art reminiscent of her fellow sisters, the ones who quietly built this city through the centuries. As the streets began to dim, and the sun fell even further behind the clouds covering the sky, she found herself home again, ready to sink into her old, cushy couch and drink a cup of warm tea, a remedy for her scratchy voice. Immediately greeted as she walked into her old apartment, the woman smiled down at her small black cat. As she took off her jackets and black leather boots, she slowly swayed to the music she turned on again, enjoying the playful Americana music that she often brewed her favorite potions and cast her favorite spells to.