03/16/2025
It’s time to thread my magic back into the soil—or perhaps, it’s time for the soil to weave its ancient spellwork through me. The garden has always been my sanctuary, my spellbook written in roots and petals, the place where I return to myself. As a hedgewitch, I live at the threshold—between wild and domestic, seen and unseen—and the garden is where those worlds meet.
This spring, the pull feels deeper. I’m craving something bigger, wilder: rows of herbs whispering old secrets, strange and hearty vegetables, a wood fire pit to gather ‘round under darkening skies… and maybe, just maybe, the soft cluck of chickens completing the spell.
Now, if I can only hush the perfectionist Virgo voice long enough to begin—I trust the land, and myself, will do the rest. Tell me I’m not the only one who spirals before they sow?
