a witch laid fallow

the ineffable can wait

fallow field

unseeded, untilled, unworked

I used to write here about my process of becoming a priestess. I was a Dedicant in Blue Star Wicca and I was training with a grove on the East Coast. Then my husband and I moved back home to Michigan. One Saturn Return and two babies later, after we were all settled into a lovely home on an acre of sandy soil in a rural neighborhood, I understood that it's still not time to take up that training process again.

My practice of witchcraft now is lying fallow.

Photo copyright © Mo and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons License.

Midsummer 2014: outward and inward

Now there is work to be done on a number of things that aren't quite witchcraft, yet are:

Outer work mowing the grass, tending the garden, getting our feet wet in nearby lakes (whose public swimming access sites continue to elude us). Wielding the string trimmer for the first time and proceeding to whack any weed that dared sprout. Clearing a path to an old shed foundation and deciding a tiny garden cottage could be built with some 2x4s and plywood.

Inner work on discipline, sticking to budgets and sitting at my desk slinging commas even when the weather is lovely — and sometimes taking an hour or two to sun myself in a lounge chair on the back deck or read a romance novel from start to finish, as an indulgence.

There is work. There is connection. There is fire and power and Will. There might not be a circle happening chez moi tonight, but there's incense burning and scones baking and wine waiting to be poured, and there will be circles again.