In Asturian mythology, witches have always held a mysterious and feared place. It was said they lived in remote mountains and caves, preparing potions and spells with herbs and secrets whispered quietly. They were wise women, in tune with nature and the rhythms of the moon, capable of both protecting and cursing.
I remember, however, that for my cousin and me, these stories came alive in the Asturian forests. With our cousins, we wandered among oaks and ferns, inventing spells, mixing leaves and flowers, feeling like witches for a moment. We played at speaking to the wind, listening to the secrets of the trees, and imagining hidden gatherings, laughing as we created our own magical tales.
Those adventures taught me to experience nature with respect and curiosity, and to understand that magic wasn’t only in old stories: it was in the forest, in shared imagination, and in the freedom to explore, innocently, the mysteries around us. Today, when I remember those days, I feel I inherited a bit of that ancestral power: the ability to connect with the unseen and with life itself, and to find in darkness a space for creativity and play.
