Song Lyric Sunday — Season of the Witch

For this week’s Song Lyric Sunday theme, Helen Vahdati chose “season.” Yes, I know that in two days it will be Christmas, but I’m resisting the urge to post a song about the Christmas season. Or even a song about winter. Instead I’m going with a classic song by Donovan Leitch, “Season of the Witch.”

Written by Donovan and Shawn Phillips, the song was released in September 1966 on Donovan’s album, Sunshine Superman. It was never released as a single, but it became a very popular song with Donovan’s fans, enough so that Donovan played it live more than most of his other hits.

“Season of the Witch” was an early example of what became known as the “psychedelic genre” of music.

“There was a feeling, even then, that all was not perfect in the Garden of Eden,” Donovan said of the song in an interview with Mojo magazine June 2011. “Dealers were moving into bohemia and hard drugs were on the fringes.” The song proved to be somewhat prophetic in the months after he recorded it. There is a line in it that goes “Some cat looking over his shoulder at me.” Those bad cats looking at him would soon come calling at his door. He was arrested for possession of cannabis — the first high-profile London drug bust of the 60s. That bust prevented him from travelling to the United States, where he was due to perform at the Monterey Pop Festival, in June, 1967.

Here are the lyrics to Donovan’s “Season of the Witch.”

When I look out my window
Many sights to see
And when I look in my window
So many different people to be
That it’s strange
So strange

You got to pick up every stitch
You got to pick up every stitch
You got to pick up every stitch
Mmmm, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch, yeah
Must be the season of the witch

When I look over my shoulder
What do you think I see?
Some other cat lookin’ over
His shoulder at me
And he’s strange
Sure is strange

You got to pick up every stitch
You got to pick up every stitch, yeah
Beatniks are out to make it rich
Oh no, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch, yeah
Must be the season of the witch

You got to pick up every stitch
Two rabbits runnin’ in the ditch
Beatniks out to make it rich
Oh no, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch
When I go

When I look out my window
What do you think I see?
And when I look in my window
So many different people to be
It’s strange
Sure is strange

You got to pick up every stitch
You got to pick up every stitch
Two rabbits runnin’ in the ditch
Oh no, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch, yeah
Must be the season of the witch
When I go
When I go

FFfAW — Second Sight

563B2A58-3AC2-497E-A375-82CC63C636F3Malcolm approached the door to the shop and checked the address on the card his optometrist had given him.

He walked into the small shop and saw that it was empty. Just four white walls. “Hello?” he said. Getting no response, he started to leave the empty shop.

“Malcolm, your new glasses are ready.”

Startled, Malcolm turned around to see a man holding a translucent glass bust, a pair of wire-framed spectacles mounted on the bridge of its nose. “Try them on,” he said. Reaching for the glasses, Malcolm noticed that the face on the bust resembled his own.

Malcolm removed the glasses from the bust and put them on. The fit was perfect and his vision was perfectly corrected. But most remarkable was that the room was no longer empty. There were paintings on the walls, a few small, round tables and chairs like those one might find in a café, with people sitting around them drinking coffee and quietly talking.

“I don’t understand,” Malcolm said, but the man with the bust was gone.

(175 words)


Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers from Priceless Joy. Photo credit: ENISA.

Rhymes with…

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“Here,” she said as she pushed a can of Pledge and a cloth toward him. Pointing to the shelves on which they kept their nick nacks, she ordered, “Go dust.”

He looked at her with disgust.

“And when you’re done with that,” she continued, “grab the wire brush and from the patio table and chairs remove all the rust.”

This whole day, he thought, will be a bust.

“And the dryer is out of balance. Its feet you need to adjust.”

With a sense of resignation, he sighed, “Fine. But as a reward, can you please whip up your famous pecan pie with a graham cracker crust?”

“I would,” she said, “but you know your need to lose weight is something we’ve already discussed.”

“This is so unjust,” he fussed.

She looked at him with distrust. “But these chores are a must,” she said.

And so into his chores himself he thrust, yearning the whole time for his days as a bachelor with lust.


Today’s one-Word prompt is “Lust.”