The rains have arrived in New England and I appreciate them. They're doing a wonderful job of wetting down my raised beds. We had a stretch of sun the last two days, and I took the opportunity to plant my tomatoes properly, and support them. It's a nice feeling to get things in the garden accomplished.
....
I've been away. I know. I've been mulling things over about the responsibilities of being a hedgewitch in times like this. I've been working with other witches to better the situation in this country - if you haven't, I suggest you go start reading hecatedemeter right now. She has wonderful things to say, and they need to be heard more than ever. She's doing good work too, and she needs all our help.
They say the book you need to read finds you when you need to read it. So it's been for me, and who found me but the most excellent Catherynne Valente and the Fairyland books. Reading her prose is like reading your dreams, and if you've never had that honor I highly recommend you start. (I'm doing a lot of that, but in times such as these it happens.)
.....
A lot of people have a lot of thoughts, and it's impossible to know all of them at once. So don't.
Overwhelming seems to be the word of the day lately. I think my taking time from this blog was to help deal with that. Consider me renewed. (garden soil is good for so many things.)
There are many witty ways to close a blog, and I've tried quite a few... so for now, let me just say this.
Breathe.
Thursday, June 8, 2017
Monday, March 27, 2017
Kitchen Witching in the almost spring
My seeds are going positively mad- I planted on Ostrara and the pumpkins are bursting out of the tray! I fear they won't wait for the frost to pass and I'll need to pull them out into pots inside... New England springs are not know for being reliable or mild. But still, my seedlings reach for the sun and even in the rain of a dying March they know the sun grows stronger.
I feel a lot like my seedlings lately- struggling, growing, changing, opening. I feel the sun though I can't always see it. I know the moon though clouds come in the dark. The ceilings close down on me, and open just at the last moment. It's a tumultuous existence, but one I'm glad I have. I feel closer to nature, I feel the seasons more acutely when I'm tending plants to maturity. It makes me want to start seeds all year long.
So many raise children, and their magic lies there. My magic comes to me from the soil, the rocks, the trees- and I am better when I remember that.
So as the days lengthen, as the sun grows, as the air warms, remember where your magic comes from. Celebrate it. Learn from it. Find your strength in it.
and Grow.
I feel a lot like my seedlings lately- struggling, growing, changing, opening. I feel the sun though I can't always see it. I know the moon though clouds come in the dark. The ceilings close down on me, and open just at the last moment. It's a tumultuous existence, but one I'm glad I have. I feel closer to nature, I feel the seasons more acutely when I'm tending plants to maturity. It makes me want to start seeds all year long.
So many raise children, and their magic lies there. My magic comes to me from the soil, the rocks, the trees- and I am better when I remember that.
So as the days lengthen, as the sun grows, as the air warms, remember where your magic comes from. Celebrate it. Learn from it. Find your strength in it.
and Grow.
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
A love affair with the Atlantic Ocean
Life lately has been rather overwhelming - so many responsibilities, so many worries and troubles and causes to fight for... all worthy, all necessary, but overwhelming nonetheless.
The stars aligned and I was able to escape it all for a weekend, completely alone, into the wild of Acadia National Park. There is an amazing bliss that falls over you as you walk alone through the woods. When all that stares out at you are trees and sunlight through dappled clouds, and all you breath in is pine and sea spray. It's worth it, even in negative temperatures. (and it was, for the whole trip, negative temperatures. this past weekend was one of the coldest this winter for Maine - lucky me!)
It's emotional too. When you're alone with your thoughts - and I mean really, really alone (no cell reception helps) - it's hard to ignore them. You think all the thoughts, feel all the emotion, and when you're alone in the woods you can cry and you don't have to explain it to anyone. You don't have to have conversations with strangers who wonder why tears are streaming down your face in a place so amazingly beautiful. You can simply let the tears come, feel the emotions, and work through them till you come out the other side, smiling and happy and lighter for it. You can hear the voices of your ancestors more clearly once you've worked through the emotions that were keeping their voices hidden. It's like taking the heavy blanket off the speaker - suddenly it's easier to hear everything, and it's not so painful.
I went through a lot of tissues.
Tears aren't the only thing that Acadia spurred in me though - it's a wonderful place with so many photographable views that it's impossible to say I've captured all there is to capture. I wouldn't want to either though, as I know I'll be going back many times, and the view will be different each time. New trees, new flowers, differences in the ocean... it's ever changing as much as it's the same. There are many places I wasn't able to go too, because the roads were impassable because of snow, ice, and downed trees.
~~
There is a stillness that you find in the forest, and us witches know it well. We wrap it around ourselves like a cloak; the familiar weight of it is a balm to us. Acadia is no different. The stillness there is old and kind, wild and violent, quiet and calm. It is all things at once, but feels like home all the same.
It's easy to speak with the Goddess in a place like that, no wires or cars to break your concentration, no unnatural lights or doors or walls. One bare hand on the mossy forest floor, your eyes dancing over the landscape, the scent of the ocean deep in your lungs, your other bare hand on the heat of a rock in the sun... it's so easy to find the elements there, all together in perfect harmony. The Circle came like breathing and the Gods came naturally, and spoke with clarity. There were no obstacles.
It was pure and beautiful. I felt whole in that moment, and connected to everything, everywhere.
~~
I don't think my experience will be the same in July when my family comes with me. They're wonderful, and I cannot wait to show them the wealth of treasures I found in the park, but it will be summer - the busiest time for the park - and we will not be alone. The park will be full of people, full of activity and movement and breathing beings on two legs crashing through underbrush as they hike backcountry trails, scattering pebbles as they rush toward the ocean, chattering and clicking and talking and laughing and screaming in the spray of sunlight through the trees. The park will be happy then too, for it exists for those like them and those like us. It will not be sad that we're there again, unable to find the stillness like before. And I won't be sad either. I'll be one of the clicking, chattering, laughing beings on two legs, holding saplings aside for my young niece and nephew so they can see the fresh moss, helping them down the rocks to gain a chance to be sprayed with saltwater.
That will be a blessing too. To see the marvel on their faces as they see the ocean without smog or filter - to stand at the edge of the rocks and have nothing between them and the horizon but air.
It is all a blessing, and I carry it with me.
So may it be for you.
The stars aligned and I was able to escape it all for a weekend, completely alone, into the wild of Acadia National Park. There is an amazing bliss that falls over you as you walk alone through the woods. When all that stares out at you are trees and sunlight through dappled clouds, and all you breath in is pine and sea spray. It's worth it, even in negative temperatures. (and it was, for the whole trip, negative temperatures. this past weekend was one of the coldest this winter for Maine - lucky me!)
It's emotional too. When you're alone with your thoughts - and I mean really, really alone (no cell reception helps) - it's hard to ignore them. You think all the thoughts, feel all the emotion, and when you're alone in the woods you can cry and you don't have to explain it to anyone. You don't have to have conversations with strangers who wonder why tears are streaming down your face in a place so amazingly beautiful. You can simply let the tears come, feel the emotions, and work through them till you come out the other side, smiling and happy and lighter for it. You can hear the voices of your ancestors more clearly once you've worked through the emotions that were keeping their voices hidden. It's like taking the heavy blanket off the speaker - suddenly it's easier to hear everything, and it's not so painful.
I went through a lot of tissues.
Tears aren't the only thing that Acadia spurred in me though - it's a wonderful place with so many photographable views that it's impossible to say I've captured all there is to capture. I wouldn't want to either though, as I know I'll be going back many times, and the view will be different each time. New trees, new flowers, differences in the ocean... it's ever changing as much as it's the same. There are many places I wasn't able to go too, because the roads were impassable because of snow, ice, and downed trees.
~~
There is a stillness that you find in the forest, and us witches know it well. We wrap it around ourselves like a cloak; the familiar weight of it is a balm to us. Acadia is no different. The stillness there is old and kind, wild and violent, quiet and calm. It is all things at once, but feels like home all the same.
It's easy to speak with the Goddess in a place like that, no wires or cars to break your concentration, no unnatural lights or doors or walls. One bare hand on the mossy forest floor, your eyes dancing over the landscape, the scent of the ocean deep in your lungs, your other bare hand on the heat of a rock in the sun... it's so easy to find the elements there, all together in perfect harmony. The Circle came like breathing and the Gods came naturally, and spoke with clarity. There were no obstacles.
It was pure and beautiful. I felt whole in that moment, and connected to everything, everywhere.
~~
I don't think my experience will be the same in July when my family comes with me. They're wonderful, and I cannot wait to show them the wealth of treasures I found in the park, but it will be summer - the busiest time for the park - and we will not be alone. The park will be full of people, full of activity and movement and breathing beings on two legs crashing through underbrush as they hike backcountry trails, scattering pebbles as they rush toward the ocean, chattering and clicking and talking and laughing and screaming in the spray of sunlight through the trees. The park will be happy then too, for it exists for those like them and those like us. It will not be sad that we're there again, unable to find the stillness like before. And I won't be sad either. I'll be one of the clicking, chattering, laughing beings on two legs, holding saplings aside for my young niece and nephew so they can see the fresh moss, helping them down the rocks to gain a chance to be sprayed with saltwater.
That will be a blessing too. To see the marvel on their faces as they see the ocean without smog or filter - to stand at the edge of the rocks and have nothing between them and the horizon but air.
It is all a blessing, and I carry it with me.
So may it be for you.
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
When you just can't look...
The last few weeks have been difficult as the man "elected" to be the next President of the United States as filled my social media feeds to the brim with lies and bull shyte. Debates have raged, Democrats have wailed and gnashed their teeth, and bared them in attempt after attempt to get the decision recounted, revisited, and all but reheld.
It's everywhere. It's on the comedy that I watch. It's on the news that I try to pay attention to. It's on the conversations I hear from coworkers.
His image makes me sick to my stomach. His voice grates every nerve. We cannot escape this.
Goddess help us.
~~~~
I sit before my altar these days. I ask the gods for guidance, for strength for the battles ahead, for patience to listen to his words, and the words of the people he's appointing as leaders.
It's hard for me, forcing myself to listen to voices that rally against all the things I hold dear. I am bisexual, I am a sexual violence survivor. I have dear friends across the spectrum of marginalized groups. We are all afraid.
~~~~~
Now, on the eve of the transition that will shatter for decades the progress we've made, I sit among like minds and knit hats in pink yarn. As I work the pattern I speak blessings and protections into the stitches and I pray the Goddess keeps the women who will wear these safe. One is my sister, the other a dear family friend.
We have to keep looking. We have to keep paying attention and we cannot just hide from this because to do that is to let them steamroller over our rights, our freedoms, our lives.
Ever vigilant. I thought I knew what those words meant once but now I know it was only a small taste to prepare us for what's coming.
Blessings on us all.
It's everywhere. It's on the comedy that I watch. It's on the news that I try to pay attention to. It's on the conversations I hear from coworkers.
His image makes me sick to my stomach. His voice grates every nerve. We cannot escape this.
Goddess help us.
~~~~
I sit before my altar these days. I ask the gods for guidance, for strength for the battles ahead, for patience to listen to his words, and the words of the people he's appointing as leaders.
It's hard for me, forcing myself to listen to voices that rally against all the things I hold dear. I am bisexual, I am a sexual violence survivor. I have dear friends across the spectrum of marginalized groups. We are all afraid.
~~~~~
Now, on the eve of the transition that will shatter for decades the progress we've made, I sit among like minds and knit hats in pink yarn. As I work the pattern I speak blessings and protections into the stitches and I pray the Goddess keeps the women who will wear these safe. One is my sister, the other a dear family friend.
We have to keep looking. We have to keep paying attention and we cannot just hide from this because to do that is to let them steamroller over our rights, our freedoms, our lives.
Ever vigilant. I thought I knew what those words meant once but now I know it was only a small taste to prepare us for what's coming.
Blessings on us all.
Monday, December 19, 2016
Solstice, quiet and calm
A lot of us think about the holydays and we think about the evenings when our days let go and we really feel like we can celebrate. Yet, how many times do those holy moment really fall at night? Take the Winter Solstice for instance - the actual moment is around 5:45am on Wednesday morning. I, for one, was very happy when I found this out.
Now, I'm not a morning person but let me tell you why I'm happy about this. Wednesday is going to be a very, very busy day - we leave this week to visit family, and will be away for a bit. We have cleaning to do, packing and prepping, gifts to wrap.... the list is oh so very long. Add to this that I'm working longer hours this week to prep for the time I'll be away and at the end of the day it all adds up to the usual equation of Lots to Do and Very Little Time to Do It.
So, knowing as I do that the moment of the Solstice is a mere 15 minutes(ish) earlier than I usually wake up during the week, I now have a built in window for meditation and reflection that just had 15 minutes added to it. My morning schedule is this:
Wake up to my alarm
Lay in bed and breathe deep for a moment
Get up, stand by the window, and watch the morning
Meditate - connect and renew and prep myself for the day
Get ready for work and head out into the world.
Tonight I'm prepping my kitchen altar for ceremony. Tomorrow, my alarm will go off 15 minutes early. The coffee will be brewing (yay programmable technology) and my offering will be waiting at the altar. I'll have 15 minutes extra to greet the Solstice, to meditate and make my offerings and hold my rite.
It doesn't sound like a lot, but knowing that I have time now set aside for this in the morning before the stress of the new day starts building and delays and setbacks change my timeline for the day, in the morning after a good night sleep has released the stress of yesterday... it means that I can truly celebrate the return of the light, the beauty of the Solstice, and take that calm with me through the day.
My offerings are simple, the ceremony will be short, but I will have time to reflect on time, on light, on the Turning of the Wheel and what that means to a hedgewitch and her land base in New England.
May the Solstice bring you joy!
Now, I'm not a morning person but let me tell you why I'm happy about this. Wednesday is going to be a very, very busy day - we leave this week to visit family, and will be away for a bit. We have cleaning to do, packing and prepping, gifts to wrap.... the list is oh so very long. Add to this that I'm working longer hours this week to prep for the time I'll be away and at the end of the day it all adds up to the usual equation of Lots to Do and Very Little Time to Do It.
So, knowing as I do that the moment of the Solstice is a mere 15 minutes(ish) earlier than I usually wake up during the week, I now have a built in window for meditation and reflection that just had 15 minutes added to it. My morning schedule is this:
Wake up to my alarm
Lay in bed and breathe deep for a moment
Get up, stand by the window, and watch the morning
Meditate - connect and renew and prep myself for the day
Get ready for work and head out into the world.
Tonight I'm prepping my kitchen altar for ceremony. Tomorrow, my alarm will go off 15 minutes early. The coffee will be brewing (yay programmable technology) and my offering will be waiting at the altar. I'll have 15 minutes extra to greet the Solstice, to meditate and make my offerings and hold my rite.
It doesn't sound like a lot, but knowing that I have time now set aside for this in the morning before the stress of the new day starts building and delays and setbacks change my timeline for the day, in the morning after a good night sleep has released the stress of yesterday... it means that I can truly celebrate the return of the light, the beauty of the Solstice, and take that calm with me through the day.
My offerings are simple, the ceremony will be short, but I will have time to reflect on time, on light, on the Turning of the Wheel and what that means to a hedgewitch and her land base in New England.
May the Solstice bring you joy!
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
It's coming... I think the winter's coming!
I see a toe, I see a curl... I listen to Wicked a lot. ;)
It's true though, when you think about it. You see the limbs of winter before you see the body of it - you see the fingers in the frost on your car in the morning and the toes in the light snow that seems to stick around longer than it seems it should be able to. These are the small thing that herald the full body of winter, and they're beautiful to me.
You need to remember - I chose to move to New England. I chose to move to a climate that a scant year after I arrived saw record snows, that give me snow falls that covered my New Beetle whole. (not drifts, falls. yes. think about that.) I chose to move to a place where summer can be so sweltering that you escape to the beaches (of which we have many) or to ponds made famous by voracious writers. (that'd be Walden)
Of course, I say I moved here but honestly, sometimes I wonder if I was called here and if I actually had any say whatsoever in the matter.
~~
You've heard me talk a lot about landbase, and what it means to connect. I hadn't heard that word before, but I knew the feeling, and it took reading the brilliant mind of hectatedemeter for me to know what I was longing for. She's wonderful, and insightful, and you ought to be reading her if you're not already.
Lately, since the world has gone sideways in the worst sort of way, I've been connecting more and more with my landbase. I do what most kitchenwitches do - I wake up, I make coffee, I stare out the window at the slowly freezing landscape of my backyard and I meditate with the rustle of leaves and spread of the frost. I watch the ivy, now frozen still like the stone wall it climbed. I watch the Rose of Sharon as it turns to the stick bush it will remain till the snows of winter are done and it can leaf and bloom once more. I collect seeds from that bush and give them to my nieces and nephew, as my grandmother did for me.
As I leave for work in the morning I run my fingers across the evergreen, looking up into the branches to see the bird nests there and am thankful they feel safe nesting near my home. The blue jays are so fat now, and the cardinals are plump little red balls and I love them all. I think of the cooking grease I'll need to put on the bird feeders again soon to keep the squirrels at bay. I've whispered things to the dirt that I have never told a soul, and the earth has kept my secrets and let me be free of their burden.
As we head deeper into the winter, look around and smile at the little death that comes to the world. Remember the blooms and leaves on the other side of the dark months and look to the holy days to help bring your spirits light. Our next one is Yule - Burn the candles, light the night and keep them lit into the dawn, celebrate with drink and rich meals. Be near your family, blood or otherwise, and relish the feeling of them around you. Know that your light burns brighter as the days lengthen and the night recedes.
But as the days grow longer and we move into the coldest and most confining time of year, also look at this time as a rest. The earth rests, and rejuvenates, and comes forth in the spring with renewed vigor.
May it be for us all.
It's true though, when you think about it. You see the limbs of winter before you see the body of it - you see the fingers in the frost on your car in the morning and the toes in the light snow that seems to stick around longer than it seems it should be able to. These are the small thing that herald the full body of winter, and they're beautiful to me.
You need to remember - I chose to move to New England. I chose to move to a climate that a scant year after I arrived saw record snows, that give me snow falls that covered my New Beetle whole. (not drifts, falls. yes. think about that.) I chose to move to a place where summer can be so sweltering that you escape to the beaches (of which we have many) or to ponds made famous by voracious writers. (that'd be Walden)
Of course, I say I moved here but honestly, sometimes I wonder if I was called here and if I actually had any say whatsoever in the matter.
~~
You've heard me talk a lot about landbase, and what it means to connect. I hadn't heard that word before, but I knew the feeling, and it took reading the brilliant mind of hectatedemeter for me to know what I was longing for. She's wonderful, and insightful, and you ought to be reading her if you're not already.
Lately, since the world has gone sideways in the worst sort of way, I've been connecting more and more with my landbase. I do what most kitchenwitches do - I wake up, I make coffee, I stare out the window at the slowly freezing landscape of my backyard and I meditate with the rustle of leaves and spread of the frost. I watch the ivy, now frozen still like the stone wall it climbed. I watch the Rose of Sharon as it turns to the stick bush it will remain till the snows of winter are done and it can leaf and bloom once more. I collect seeds from that bush and give them to my nieces and nephew, as my grandmother did for me.
As I leave for work in the morning I run my fingers across the evergreen, looking up into the branches to see the bird nests there and am thankful they feel safe nesting near my home. The blue jays are so fat now, and the cardinals are plump little red balls and I love them all. I think of the cooking grease I'll need to put on the bird feeders again soon to keep the squirrels at bay. I've whispered things to the dirt that I have never told a soul, and the earth has kept my secrets and let me be free of their burden.
As we head deeper into the winter, look around and smile at the little death that comes to the world. Remember the blooms and leaves on the other side of the dark months and look to the holy days to help bring your spirits light. Our next one is Yule - Burn the candles, light the night and keep them lit into the dawn, celebrate with drink and rich meals. Be near your family, blood or otherwise, and relish the feeling of them around you. Know that your light burns brighter as the days lengthen and the night recedes.
But as the days grow longer and we move into the coldest and most confining time of year, also look at this time as a rest. The earth rests, and rejuvenates, and comes forth in the spring with renewed vigor.
May it be for us all.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Simple Spells
I'd say I don't know what it is about this time of year that gets my magic up, but I totally know. It's the season!
Pumpkins line my kitchen counter, apples are stacked high in a brown glazed bowl, squashes of all forms rest among the bowls and pie plates and knives. There are sides of pork and beef in my freezer waiting for the cast iron pot they'll cook slowly in, soaking in cider and spice and yams or mixed with cardamom and dried cranberries and pecans. I have very medieval views on how to prepare a piece of meat. Skewing is high on that list, as is pie crust.
~~
The glory of this season is that unlike the summer months where the last thing you want is a hot kitchen, the winter months bring the revel of the warmth that comes from running the oven all day and the scents that imparts on the whole house. Where in the spring it's all we can do to serve bright and sweet dishes full of soft colors, in the fall we serve rich, deep dishes full of savory flavors and strong contrasting color.
So here's a few tips to bring your magic into the kitchen this fall and winter....
*Keep squashes on your counter. They're a quick, savory side dish when topped with butter and garlic, or a warm, sweet side when topped with maple syrup and thyme. Additionally, squash represent the resilience of the harvest so use these when you need to up your stamina to deal with the weather. Savory for calming, sweet for happiness.
*Garlic is your friend. Whole cloves are the best way to go, and they store very, very well. Raw and straight off the ground keeps the longest but if you use it as much as I do then you'll go through it faster than it can go bad so it's not a worry. Roasted garlic is a scent we all adore - don't be scared about making this at home. Take one head of garlic and DO NOT PEEL it, cut off the top so you can clearly see a good bit of the actual clove and set it in a piece of tin foil. Be super generous with the olive oil. (hint - if you have a small brie baker that has a lid, use this instead and do two heads of garlic. The oil will collect easily and you can then jar it and store it in the fridge to have roasted garlic olive oil for ANYTHING.) Close the foil up around the clove loosely. Put it in the oven to roast for about 20 minutes at 350deg. You'll smell it when it's done - and the garlic will have started to pop out of the head. Wait for it to cool and then either spoon out or squeeze out the garlic cloves into your recipe, or a jar to store in the fridge. This really has to be refrigerated if you're not using it immediately. (I suggest adding it to mashed potatoes)
*Look up winter vegetables and use them. Carrots glazed with brown sugar, honey, butter, and ginger are excellent, easy, and a wonderful use of spices that help bring clarity of Sight. Cloudy visions? Not anymore.
*Take the down time you find on those snow days to really clean all your kitchen implements. Use salt and sage to clear out the energies built up around your kitchen and dining room, and then do the whole house. This is the time where we can use the quiet of the dark to really clear out the old of last year to make room for the new of next year.
Pumpkins line my kitchen counter, apples are stacked high in a brown glazed bowl, squashes of all forms rest among the bowls and pie plates and knives. There are sides of pork and beef in my freezer waiting for the cast iron pot they'll cook slowly in, soaking in cider and spice and yams or mixed with cardamom and dried cranberries and pecans. I have very medieval views on how to prepare a piece of meat. Skewing is high on that list, as is pie crust.
~~
The glory of this season is that unlike the summer months where the last thing you want is a hot kitchen, the winter months bring the revel of the warmth that comes from running the oven all day and the scents that imparts on the whole house. Where in the spring it's all we can do to serve bright and sweet dishes full of soft colors, in the fall we serve rich, deep dishes full of savory flavors and strong contrasting color.
So here's a few tips to bring your magic into the kitchen this fall and winter....
*Keep squashes on your counter. They're a quick, savory side dish when topped with butter and garlic, or a warm, sweet side when topped with maple syrup and thyme. Additionally, squash represent the resilience of the harvest so use these when you need to up your stamina to deal with the weather. Savory for calming, sweet for happiness.
*Garlic is your friend. Whole cloves are the best way to go, and they store very, very well. Raw and straight off the ground keeps the longest but if you use it as much as I do then you'll go through it faster than it can go bad so it's not a worry. Roasted garlic is a scent we all adore - don't be scared about making this at home. Take one head of garlic and DO NOT PEEL it, cut off the top so you can clearly see a good bit of the actual clove and set it in a piece of tin foil. Be super generous with the olive oil. (hint - if you have a small brie baker that has a lid, use this instead and do two heads of garlic. The oil will collect easily and you can then jar it and store it in the fridge to have roasted garlic olive oil for ANYTHING.) Close the foil up around the clove loosely. Put it in the oven to roast for about 20 minutes at 350deg. You'll smell it when it's done - and the garlic will have started to pop out of the head. Wait for it to cool and then either spoon out or squeeze out the garlic cloves into your recipe, or a jar to store in the fridge. This really has to be refrigerated if you're not using it immediately. (I suggest adding it to mashed potatoes)
*Look up winter vegetables and use them. Carrots glazed with brown sugar, honey, butter, and ginger are excellent, easy, and a wonderful use of spices that help bring clarity of Sight. Cloudy visions? Not anymore.
*Take the down time you find on those snow days to really clean all your kitchen implements. Use salt and sage to clear out the energies built up around your kitchen and dining room, and then do the whole house. This is the time where we can use the quiet of the dark to really clear out the old of last year to make room for the new of next year.
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