Ebb and Flow
There is a special magic in the mornings, as if the Universe gifted us with a spell to remind us that "anything is possible." On the morning of August 15th, she steps out of her car and walks toward the double doors, opens them and steps into her favorite place. Not even two paces inside, the scent of baked goods, freshly brewed coffee, and new books invade her senses. She is immediately transported into another realm. "Anything is possible," she thinks to herself as she walks into Barnes & Noble.
First stop, the magazine stand. "Are there any new Flow magazines?"
This morning's outing is homework. "Or work?" she wonders. It's hard to think of her favorite activity as work. It's still difficult to see herself as a writer-illustrator.
She practices self-restraint, ignoring that pull toward a blueberry muffin. How sinful of the store curators to place the New Age section right in front of the cafe.
Over the years she had taken many strolls through the New Age shelves back when the section was on the second floor of the store. She used to browse through books one by one, fully focused, blocking out the world. Now, she notices that her impatient self prefers to scan the shelves. That is fine; she accepts it this time because she realizes there is very little variety left in the section. Three full bookshelves dedicated to witchcraft, spells, and botany for witches—when had New Age become exclusively about witches? Hmmm, her inner self is still resisting the subject, at least the way it is being presented.
The "new release" section is next. An entire U-shaped aisle. So many new releases... yet nothing catches the eyes of her impatient self. She strolls past the round tables placed inside the U-shaped aisle, full of heaping books; still nothing grabs her in the way a beautiful book cover usually grabs her. She imagines this action as an editorial image where a book with hands grabs her by the arm, saying, "You know you are curious!"
Still nothing.
Grabbing the handrail of the escalator, she ascends, feeling the passage of time. The second floor of the store has a large fiction book section and an equally large and lovely children's book area, which she thinks of fondly, remembering the time she spent with her two nieces, and when she had to finally admit to herself that she wanted to be an illustrator.
An art teacher once told her to browse through children's books to see the kind of art she was attracted to. "What attracts us tells us about our style." Later in life, an actual book illustrator gave her one more piece of the puzzle. "Don't just look at a book cover to cover. Analyze it, make notes, see the pacing and try to understand all the choices that the illustrator made." Needless to say, she followed neither over the years. Instead, she made it her life's endeavor to take as many art courses as she could. And while she spent a lot of time in the children's book area, lost inside the images and the stories of all the books she got her hands on, she had never walked out thinking "what attracted her or the pacing of anything" as per the advice. It seemed so boring ==in comparison to just devouring the book!
Life has proven that experience must come first. Therefore, she had to live her life. But the advice had not been lost on her. The advice had a place and a time when it would be needed—and that time is now.
Indulging in a picture book the way she used to from beginning to end felt spellbinding. And who can stop the child within? The combination of images to match the story was so captivating that before she knew it, she swam in and out in minutes. Such is the magic of picture books.
The Caldecott Honor Seal on a couple of books grabbed her attention, and making a mental note for her future self to learn how the seals are earned, she peruses a few more books. She snaps a couple of photos of the endpapers: the first of a pattern that one would find at Spoonflower; the second of a flat lay similar to someone's desk or floor covered with illustrated pages. It is not the drawn images that are so attractive, but the lovely way each artist chooses to welcome a reader into the book.
"One more minute," she pleads, as if the bookkeepers within this magical realm, or maybe the book fairies, were about to snap away the bookstore.
She steps out.
August 21st. The concept of the Hearth Witch has been calling to her. And from her last visit to the bookstore, the magical subjects have been just as bewitching to curators and customers alike.
She thumbs through her notebooks to review her meticulous notes on the subject; she knows it is a romanticized, idealized version of the craft once practiced by the Cunning Folk, the wise women, healers, and midwives who used herbal medicine, astrology, midwifery, and divination to support their local communities. While the historic roots are identical, the hearth witch's craft is centered inward with her focus on the home, family, and daily living.
The history of how the word "witch" and "witchcraft" became a centuries-long game of broken telephone still amazes her, because regardless of what her research points to, how or why she wants to participate in the romanticism is unexplainable by reason. She can only stand on one fact: the simple act of cleaning with intention is what saved her.
Now, a whimsical idea takes root: she wants to create her own Grimoire.
She refuses to spoil the romantic idea of such a book by digging through her notes or reminding herself of how misconceptions built the myth of a "witch's spell book." Instead, she wants to fantasize about the pure art of it. She could fill the pages with recipes, collections of healing herbs, definitions and uses of her favorite collected gems and stones, and the meaning of each tarot card. She wants to recover the younger version of herself—the girl who was genuinely amused by each new discovery. The stones have been sitting on a plate placed by her door gathering dust, their magical powers forgotten. Creating her own Grimoire may be a fun way to wake up her forgotten knowledge.
She is reminded that this might be just a passing phase, yet she will allow herself to enjoy the process and trust that the attraction isn't about learning witchcraft, but allowing herself to have fun again with such subjects.
What will come from this?
It is officially Autumn! September 22nd, a day when the moon hangs high in the middle of its Waxing Gibbous phase. Around her, time continues to be erratic, giving her hours that feel like minutes and days that feel like hours. Summer slipped through her hands.
About three months have passed since she heard the "work with the moon" whisper. What had she expected back then? The monthly calendar that she used to track tasks and projects became a softer moon phase chart in which she notated outcomes rather than to-dos. Letting go of the habit of a fresh start each 1st of the month was soon phased out and replaced with the practice of a slow, relaxed start on a new moon, mirroring a soft wake-up from a restful slumber.
Slowly, she had allowed the ebb and flow of a moon cycle to dictate the ebb and flow of her body rhythms. The learned behavior of pushing and producing daily is dwindling. If she is honest with herself, she is just as productive, in shorter periods of time. Maybe the moon has been working through her, instead of her working with the moon.
She has discovered that through the lens of the moon's phases, time matches the rhythms of the earth. Each season follows this rhythmic pattern, each blending softly into the next, rather than the rigid start and end dates on an actual calendar. She is beginning to understand the ebb and flow of each lunar cycle, where the new moon coaxes itself from darkness into a sliver of illumination in the waxing crescent phase, to then quietly grow into the grand illumination of a full moon, only to slowly retreat and turn dark again, as if to go into a deep slumber.
Soon, it will be her birthday. While she was born under the Spring Moon, here in the U.S., her birthday falls under the magic of Autumn—the best season of all.
Enjoyed this chapter? Explore other free chapters of The Craft journal, or subscribe to the Blog to unlock the full collection, download monthly printables and access the archive.
Full access to the journal, the archives, and every hidden thread.