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Weight | 1 oz |
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$28.00
The incendiary moment when a human hand snatches fire from the gods of creativity and channels it onto the page: a lightning storm stirred with beeswax candle smoke, yellowing notebooks, and pools of India ink.
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Weight | 1 oz |
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On a rocky mountain pass, on the southernmost slopes of Mount Belly, the witch-queen reined in her goat-drawn chariot and stopped and sniffed the chilly air.
The myriad stars hung cold in the sky above her.
Her red, red lips curved up into a smile of such beauty, such brilliance, such pure and perfect happiness that it would have frozen your blood in your veins to have seen it. “There,” she said. “She is coming to me.”
And the wind of the mountain pass howled about her triumphantly, as if in answer.
Wild plum, red musk, tuberose, calla lily, heliotrope, pimento, ylang ylang and beeswax beneath a dark haze of sinister purple-hued incense smoke.
Power of the Witch lies in her respect and direct communication with nature. She may choose to give favor to those who can see her wisdom as authentic and beneficial.
Beeswax, bone, broomcorn, and lilac.
Nelson Shanks
Crimson and ash-green velvet, leatherbound books, a scattering of ink-dribbled papers, beeswax, dried flowers, faded pipe smoke, mahogany, and oak suffused with warm beams of golden amber and dusted with pale sandalwood.
“What a piece of work is a man!”
“What is this quintessence of dust?”
The passing: beeswax and smoke, yellowed paper and well-worn leather books, droplets of spilled ink, faded incense, blood-tinged salty tears, and the metal of the knife that skewers that illiterate zombie philistine’s portrait.
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