This time of year, as the air begins to cool enough for mornings to need socks and the darkness seems to deepen so that the nights are black and still, a sense of peace starts to settle over me. As I shuffle tarot cards for folks who seek guidance and wisdom or light candles on
I was born in September. I don’t know if that has any bearing on my love for autumn, but I like to believe it does. In my Upstate New York childhood, autumn meant new school clothes and supplies (I still love new notebooks and pens and markers and folders and, and, and…), the smell of
It’s Friday the 13th, which honestly is a day I love, and not only because I was born on one. I’ll be honest, most superstitions strike me as odd, but they tell us a lot about who we are, or who we came from. The roots of such superstitions can be illuminating, and they illustrate
It is that time of year again, as the veil thins and the spirits of the dead move through the land and the world remembers that witches exist. Sure, we’re around all the time, but mostly people forget until Samhain approaches, and then suddenly we’re meant to perform our witchness for them. Okay, so witchness
This Samhain, after I go to work in my Raven costume, I will spend an evening in quiet contemplation and while I can’t really have a bonfire like I’d like, I will light as many candles as I deem safe and invite those beloved dead to visit. I may even throw some bones and see if they speak to me.