Critical Thinking and Language Essays
My Aunt Rose is a good witch. She came to visit us each year around Halloween. We knew she was a witch because she could change into different things. When she knocked at our door, she was a cat, scratching the door with her long nails and ômeowing,ö louder and louder until we let her inside. By opening the door, we turned her into a witch again. She stood there in a long black dress, with a high pointed black hat, with long black hair, and a large orange leather purse. Her purse was a ôpumpkin.ö The large purse was curved and bright orange with two pockets with black trimming on the front that were its eyes.
Of course my aunt Rose was not a witch in real life, but with her black hair, black outfit, and pumpkin purse, all us kids just knew she was like SabrinaÆs witch aunts on Sabrina The Teenage Witch. She would never reveal to us she was a witch, since we lacked her magical powers. We knew she was a witch because of the way she always studied her reflection in the mirror. We knew she was fascinated because witches have no reflection in a mirror. She stood gazing into the mirror for long periods of time, seemingly perplexed, as if she was pondering a dilemma before the Oracle of Delphi.
Aunt Rose was a good witch. We knew she was good because she always had something for us in her pumpkin. Her pumpkin purse was PandoraÆs box to us. We never knew what might emerge from the pumpkin for us. One time, Aunt Rose sat in the living room in front of the fireplace. The shadows behind her acted like a magnifying glass, throwing her image onto the wall behind her but three times her size. She slowly put her hand into her purse and clawed around in her pumpkin like a crab searching for bits of food. Her large hands would come out of the pumpkin, concealing our ôtreatö in her long, wrinkled fingers with bright red painted nails. She rose and came to each of us, handing u...