Sitting alone in my blind

The sun sets behind me.

I try to focus on the task at hand

My mind has other plans.

I think about my day.

The past, the present, and the future.

My struggles and how they weren’t in vain.

I’m growing.

Changing with the seasons.

Each painful memory an essential part of who I am.

Will I ever let go?

Can I ever move on?

Do I forget just enough to ease the pain?

Or do I remember enough to never let it happen again?

Reflections or hauntings

I can’t quite decide.

The past, the present, and the future

Does it matter?

There’s no place to hide.




Sitting in the wild

Weapon in hand.

Waiting silent and patient.

I hear the the birds chirping.

The wind blows all around

I see the grass swaying.

It doesn’t make a sound.

Then suddenly I see her.

Beauty grace and soul.

A doe has stepped before me

Unaware her time has come.

A sense of grief washes over me

Taking a life is never easy.

I thank her for her sacrifice

Deep breath


Pull the trigger.

Watch her fall.




Thank you Mother for this gift.

Thank you Dear friend for your life.

I am a Huntress.

I can provide.

I will survive. 

Rhea Faun finally saying hi!


I am a witch. I knew I was different at the tender age of 8. You can imagine what it was like being a witch in a Christian home. Not fun… at all. This isn’t about then, though. It’s about now.
There are so many titles when it comes to being a witch. Solitary, eclectic, green, black, white, kitchen, and the list goes on. I dislike using titles, but for the sake of this post I will. If I had to state what type of witch I am, it would be an eclectic solitary kitchen witch. I live in the kitchen. It is the one place magic happens effortlessly. Sick? I have a remedy. Upset stomach? I have one for that too. Bad day and need a pick me up? I got something to make you smile. Missing home? I’ll whip something up.
I also farm. The goal is to live farm to table like the good ol days. I grow fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers. This year has been rough, though. Between moving and a relentless deer population, my spring/summer garden was almost non existent. Some deer proofing and hunting are sure to fix it next go round. Chickens and turkeys make up the rest of the farm. They follow me around the yard looking for treats…. Even though they will eventually be my food, I want them to have their best life. Every living thing deserves a happy life no matter where they are on the food chain. Like I stated before, I hung. There is power in providing and there is comfort in knowing where your food comes from. Everything is processed by us for us. It’s almost primal instinct for me. The more I do things the old way, the closer to the Mother I feel. I actually in my deer blind writing this. It’s one of the few times I can truly be alone.
Alone time is few and far between. I believe that’s why my craft revolves around my kitchen. I have 3 young children who take up the majority of my time. AND I LOVE IT. Being a mother is the most incredible thing I could ever do. Creating life is magic within itself,but I couldn’t do it without a partner. My husband is my equal half. The magic we create together is like no other.
This introduction is a little all over the place, but so am I. Kitchen magic, herbal remedies, sacred yoni magic, crystals, earth spells, moon light secret whisperings, talking to spirits. I dabble in whatever feels right. I was never properly trained in my craft. Everything I do is intuitive. I started seeing spirits at a young age. At one point I couldn’t see anymore, but I could feel thier presence. Now I can do both, but it’s totally random. I have sneaking suspicion my oldest can too. So yeah, I’m uh Rhea Faun. Hope you enjoy Soul Sisters: Spells and Sage.


My every thought and action are carefully considered,

lest I draw any sort of attention to myself, because:

That’s just being a melodramatic

One never wants to give the impression of seeking attention,

Seeking Good Attention indicates arrogance,

Bad Attention- desperation

But there’s fixation on my situation and it leaves me unsettled,

I’m frozen, tiptoeing through my room at night

Don’t make a sound

Let everyone believe you’re asleep

Find me some bottles covered in candle wax, incense, and vanilla body spray

I could be fourteen again,

But I’m not and this is stupid.

Every sound seems amplified,

As I sneak and creep and hide,

lest I draw any sort of attention to myself, because:

That’s just being a melodramatic

They’re going to think you’re lying,

You’re best just not to speak,

Liar, manipulator, user, whore

Let the razors speak for you

They will believe you now,


Instead you’re told that

You’re not in pain, you’re contrived,

You’re being dramatic,

And you need to quit,

lest you draw any sort of attention to yourself because:

That’s just being melodramatic

Now, I am a shield for my children,

Their perfect little hearts and minds should not endure this and,

I’ve never truly been afraid that I wasn’t strong enough,

Until now.

I am a warrior, a protector, and a vindicator,

But I have been in battle for so damn long,

So, I’ve begun to duck and hide whenever possible,

lest I draw any sort of attention to myself because:

That’s just being melodramatic


Am I so masochistic?


I turn them over in my mind

These words,

Silver bullets penetrating


The world reels as they echo




Same words, different faces

I turn inward

Is this who I am?

Analyzing introspection

Reevaluating every thought and action

Overreaching, over compensating until I’m overwhelmed


Withdraw, close, shut down



These words they can’t describe me

I can’t possibly be that misunderstood

These insults and allegations

This slander and coercion

These are weapons, nothing more

They’re not truths

They’re not revelations

They’re just bullets


How are they so easily wielded?

I load the gun for you,

I bare my heart to you

I ask you not to kill me

Then I’m surprised when you do


Am I so masochistic?

Out of the Frying Pan

Into the fire

Like a Tolkien-esque riddle

I find myself pondering


There’s no doubt

That I went from the frying pan to the fire

The question is whether the escape is back through the frying pan


Logic says no


Intuition says yes


I can’t always trust intuition when it comes to people I care about

I see the best

I see what could be

I overlook what is


What is presently is a double edged sword that skins and slices no matter which way I turn

I don’t want to go back to the frying pan without it having ample time to cool

But the fire is quickly burning me alive and there’s a safety line


Fuckin take it! My heart screams

But I sense the familiar rhythm

The echoed words

I’ve already shouldered my responsibility


This is not on me

This is not on me

This is not on me


That’s not the point

That can be dealt with in time

Are you ready to deal?

I am,

I’ve been ready