I know very little about witches. I doubt that I have ever met one, although as a kid I had questions about a shriveled old woman who lived in a shack across the street that I and my friends only knew as Annie Gator. We would sneakily gather at her window at night to watch her in the glow of a candle as she fussed with thread and needle to repair her shawl.

Oh, there was also my arithmetic teacher, Mrs. Lenz, an assertive woman who would come to my desk, aiming an index finger at me and sternly demanded, “Are you chewing gum?” (I was! But how did she know it? ) I figured her to be a witch in her worst moods. But I was so young.
Today, witchcraft has been revived by President Trump, who is forever accusing Special Counsel Robert Mueller of conducting a “witch hunt”. Trump has tweeted 40 witch hunts ever since he became a world leader.  It is a historic number that will surely be stressed in his Nobel Peace Prize bid to rid the planet of troublesome sorcerers.
Knowing full well that his base will believe anything, he has taken us back to the Salem witch trials that led to the execution of more than 20 suspects as well as some pigs, goats and other animals. That was hardly a happy chapter in the history of religious fanatics called Puritans, who had fled England to seek freedom, only to go witch-hunting on our shores for anyone who sneezed in the strangest way.
Now that we’ve been reduced to a theocracy in which Trump supporters refuse to hold him accountable for the silliest of lies, great expectations, and Rudy Giuliani, witchcraft may become a building block of Trump’s promise of a more perfect union free of satanic magic.
As he often says, “We’ll see what happiness.”  But there are days when I would happily settle for Annie Gator.