Midnight Musings and the Round-Bellied Bowl

The truth is, being a Witch and having a daily spiritual practice in magic does not allow me to create my own situational blindness to what is happening within the borders of my own community and country or in the world that is really not so far away. I cannot remain connected and be oblivious at the same time.

The Ghosts of Home

My father began asking me to go home sometime in August. He started with subtle hints – the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, random old music, and snapshots of shared memories. But I should mention that no embodied being in my home drinks coffee, and my dad left this realm 16 years ago.

A Three Mile Drive

I know what should be blooming, singing, or visiting any time, but I revel in the surprises. Over the summer, a frog moved into the front gardens. What a sweet marker of the returning health of this tiny bit of land! I adore hearing his frog songs at night, mixed in with the sounds of the night chorus.

What’s the Story, Morning Glory?

To be clear, the primary factor in that review was the frustration and anger I directed at myself because “I should be able to do all the things.” Well, guess what, chickens? Should is a four-letter word.

The Little Things

It never surprises me when my dad shows up in memory or visitation when I am thinking about the Adirondacks or wandering in the woods somewhere. Those were his places and my places, and another one of the connections that we shared.