I'm finally shaking out of my winter cocoon I've been wrapped up in commissions for months now and I'm looking forward to a break. Hyacinth and blue bells have begun to spring up along the roadside, new bright pink blooms have appeared on the camellia trees in West Seattle and the Andromeda's a already heavy with my favorite fragrance. I didn't wake the land up the way I did other years, this year I walked the land quietly, I buried sweet bread and drops of honey in little hollows, sweetening the spirits of the land in a way. This late winter has brought a cleaning frenzy with it. I line the balcony with stones; some rubbed in rosemary, some put out by full moon light, others in the rays of an artificial rainbow created by the colorful philter bottles that dangle and click and chime from above. The clear quartz are in a green glass bottle, the rose stones in a bowl of salt, all these precious superstitions and folk magics culminating in something very real and very instinctual to me. The practice, the aesthetic is the art, the art is the ritual, the ritual exists to fulfill a personal longing and it needs not be something greater or lesser than that. I haven't had the time to make a pilgrimage to the sacred places in the forest where all the right herbs are growing just now, but I intend to tonight. Some magicians say to never gather by the dark moon, there are superstitions abound around the way certain herbs are to be gathered but for my purposes, I will gather what I need during the dark, a time sacred and safe to me. The dark moon is a time to travel between worlds, I usually go by way of smoke, by way of herb-steeped ales and yellow trumpets... Which ever way you go, may spirits find you.