so the witch mountain opened up like a sea parting but a sea of maybe granite? and inside was full of marigolds and poppies and they poured out decapitated or partially intact onto what was left of the floodplain and replaced where the water had been and in the breaking was okay and entered into and never wanted to leave. everything leaves, everyone leaves one day but until then it is always i will never leave i will remain here i will forget the passing of time the turning of the sun and the moon and i will grow old here and sometimes that is true and sometimes that is not, we can learn to breathe whatever this is that isn't air and it will pass into our shared circulatory systems and out again only to be rebreathed reversing or amplifying atmospheric concentrations of stuff here inside witch mountain now opened up and pulsing its veins of gold and sunset orange. it doesn't hurt or if it hurts it hurts like a cut exposed to air or what passes for air and the friction that passes atop and thru like wind through a canyon mostly because it is some sort of wind or different in scale even though everything hangs where it was exhaled like dumb crystals or collected exhaust. a spell collides with a spell collides with a spell extensive however long.
field mint is the only mint native to north america or so i am told or i read it somewhere recently. it occasionally forms a triune with peppermint and spearmint but has a space in its name in which i found confusion. it is like other mints a topical aseptic and antibiotic and a mild anesthetic.