"So, old woman, how do you cure Love at First Sight?"

The crone laughed like a deadman's rattle. "Ah, there's a thing. Well, if you were some maid, I'd say a kiss. Or to be truly rid of it, a marriage." She pronounced marriage 'marry-ahj' the old way of yore.

"Neither is possible. I'm already wed, and happily too, were it not for this accursed lust that's come over me."

"Tell me her name and her story." the wise one requested. Of course, she already knew the girl. The lovesick sow who'd pleaded for a love spell. Yet she listened with curiosity to hear his version. A fruit picker, lately working the harvest, who he'd glanced at for a moment, and drowned in her sky blue gaze.

"Just two drops, one for each of your eyes, then look on your love and whisper his name, my dear. Just three silver coins for the potion," she'd advised the wench, who'd willingly parted with a month's wages for all the good it had done. Which (witch?) was none at all.

The yeoman started from yet another daydream of shared embraces. "Is there a cure. I can't stop thinking on her…"

"Aye there is a potion. Three silver coins will suffice." she had pointed at a bowl on the crooked table.

She laughed again like a hanged man's last breath. "That's right. Rub it on your 'parts' when you cannot get peace." The witch guessed it would not be long before the good man's wife would be calling to get a potion of her own.

The silver clinked in the bowl as the farmer left the cottage. They'd all be right in the end. And she now had enough silver to feed herself through another Winter. The Goddess always provided, after all.