Pop art nina on yellow

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robin’s nest in the kettle, too. The birds had got in through a broken window pane. She carefully took the kettle outside and wedged it over the door so’s to be safe from weasels, and boiled up some water in a saucepan.
Then she wound up the clock. Witches didn’t have much use for clocks, but she kept it for the tick . . . well, mainly for the tick. It made a see.
Time to think about that sort of thing, now. Time to think about the past...
The clock ticked. The water boiled. Granny Weatherwax fished a bag of tea from the meager luggage on her broom-stick, and swilled out the teapot.
The fire settled down. The clamminess of a room unlived-in for months was place seem lived in. It had belonged to her mother, who’d wound it up every day.It hadn’t come as a surprise to her when her mother died, firstly because Esme Weatherwax was a witch and witches have an insight into the future and secondly because she was already pretty experienced in medicine and knew the signs. So she’d had a chance to prepare herself, and hadn’t cried at all until the day afterward, when the clock stopped right in the middle of the funeral lunch. She’d dropped a tray of ham rolls and then had to go and sit by herself in the privy for a while, so that no one would