Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Cowan Drag

 

 In Which Boss Warlock, As Usual, Doesn't Have a Clue

They walk among us.”

 

Hey guys, check this out.

This is my new cowan drag.

(Models.)

Pretty good, hunh? Makes me look just like a cowan, doesn't it?

Oh, hey, and listen to this.

(Mugs.)

“Blessed be, my fellow cowans.”

Sounds just like one, doesn't it?

(Smiles modestly, looks at feet.)

I've been practicing.

 

 

 

Pretty much all of us know at least one person who could never possibly pass as anything but pagan.

(Increasingly, as I get older and more set in my own identity, I seem to be becoming one such, myself.)

This post is dedicated, with love, to them all.

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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