A Hat Full Of Sky (in memory of Terry Prattchet #5)

I still feel the air above my head
I can touch the things that hide.
Weaved for me by granny
But this hat! it feels alive.

I wear this hat that you cannot see,
And it sits upon my head.
Invisible to most
But I can feel it's weight.

It does not feel like a burden,
I've grown accustomed to its fit,
I'm nothing special to look at,
But you should know I am a witch.

Not one so conventional
For I was born upon the chalk
Thought of a soft place to be
By those born upon the rock.

You don't know what sleeps under the chalk
And what lays in those deep graves
The ancestry of witches for centuries
Bellow the chalk and cut from slate

They all stand there in there circles
Hats pointy and all black
They look at me with scorn
Till one voice says

"LET HER PASS"