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A Meeting at Bright Eye Ravens, like the mist that curls around the Welsh mountains, have been present in this land for centuries. Dark, mysterious, and edged with knowing, they easily inspire tales of myth and magick. They are threshold beings—bridging sky and stone, life and death, seen and unseen. That’s where my encounter began:…
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Between the Worlds: A Samhain Reflection At this threshold of the year, I find myself standing on a bridge—between the old and the new, the living and the dead, the ancient and the modern. Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Halloween… whatever name we give it, this time carries a deep pulse of transition. I honour my ancestors…
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Morning Mist Musings This morning, as the mist settled over the mountains behind my home, I found myself watching the land soften. Edges blurred. Trees became silhouettes. The familiar path up the ridge was still visible—but only just. And I began to wonder: what is the difference between mist and fog? Mist and Fog: Physical…
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The Hush of October October arrives with a mist shrouded hush. The trees begin their slow surrender, letting go leaf by leaf and I too feel the call to release before rooting deeper. This is the month I dedicate to autumn clearing — not just of my home, but of my habits, my thoughts and…
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Pica Pica: Of shiny things and Human Folklore This isn’t a guide to hand-feeding or taming. It’s a practice in noticing. In challenging the stories we’ve inherited about who belongs and who threatens. To befriend a magpie is to meet the equinox in feathered form—black and white, wild and wise, keeper of thresholds. With their…
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Equinox as Threshold: Inanna’s Pause and the Balance Before Descent There is a moment in the turning year when the Earth holds its breath. Day and night meet as equals, and the sun stands poised above the equator. This is the autumn equinox—a fleeting moment of balance before the descent into darkness. In myth, this…
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The Mountains: A Sanctuary of Strength There was a time when even the smallest daily tasks felt insurmountable. Opening my mail filled me with dread—what if it was another demand, another expectation I couldn’t meet? Life pressed in from all sides, overwhelming me until even the act of existing felt like too much. But the…
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Crimson Cloaked She Rises Where I live, the moon rises from behind a mountain. In autumn, when the nights draw in and the air carries a hush, you can see its light before you see its face—an eerie glow seeping through mist and breeze, as if the land itself remembers. On eclipse night, that glow…
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Foraging as Family Ritual At the cusp of August’s golden hush and September’s soft descent, we return to the hazel groves. It’s a quiet ritual now—me, my husband and children—stooping beneath the leaf-shadow to gather nuts. They pocket them eagerly, cracking shells with delight along the way. I don’t eat them myself. For me, it’s…
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After a winter of long days spent couped up, we long for the expansiveness of the ocean and the coastline.She calls to us—young and old alike. Children squeal with delight as they splash in and out of the wave’s edge, their laughter accompanied by the cacophony of gulls floating on the gentle breeze above the…
