A schoolteacher friend told me the kids in her class believe the Stay Belows are now 'at mud'. Usually such gossip is a good signal of how things are. However, my trip to Wystan Lumb suggests otherwise. The shadows in the water still whisper. – #EmilyCBanting, diary entry November 15th, 1982
November 15, 2025 at 12:31 PM
A schoolteacher friend told me the kids in her class believe the Stay Belows are now 'at mud'. Usually such gossip is a good signal of how things are. However, my trip to Wystan Lumb suggests otherwise. The shadows in the water still whisper. – #EmilyCBanting, diary entry November 15th, 1982
When you feel depleted of enchantment, walk the wood. It is where magic lives loudly. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
November 15, 2025 at 9:58 AM
When you feel depleted of enchantment, walk the wood. It is where magic lives loudly. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
The witch works with the season. When the year begins its slow striptease, she reads the language of the trees' wooden bones. Reads tomorrow in a fall of phyllomancy. When birds come to harvest high berries, auspicy is her share. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
November 13, 2025 at 2:55 PM
The witch works with the season. When the year begins its slow striptease, she reads the language of the trees' wooden bones. Reads tomorrow in a fall of phyllomancy. When birds come to harvest high berries, auspicy is her share. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Rooks shout the dying day. Spirits wake. Twilight as threshold engine for my magics. Twilight as a time of summoning. My tongue spills secret names. My tongue seduces the world to see things my way. I am a witch. Change is the wake of my walking. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
November 12, 2025 at 4:04 PM
Rooks shout the dying day. Spirits wake. Twilight as threshold engine for my magics. Twilight as a time of summoning. My tongue spills secret names. My tongue seduces the world to see things my way. I am a witch. Change is the wake of my walking. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
The witch walks and plucks wild omens, picks plants for the curing of tomorrow. Jack by the hedge, wood sorrel, the fertile hope of navelwort. The witch walks and harvests auguries, the gossip of trees. Her movement across the land is a magical act. – #EmilyCbanting, 1982 #WitchSky
November 12, 2025 at 11:26 AM
The witch walks and plucks wild omens, picks plants for the curing of tomorrow. Jack by the hedge, wood sorrel, the fertile hope of navelwort. The witch walks and harvests auguries, the gossip of trees. Her movement across the land is a magical act. – #EmilyCbanting, 1982 #WitchSky
For the witch, there are times when the river becomes a fluid scrying, a constant flow of omens. It's tutelary spirit whispers wisdom in her ears, its magics ripple across her psychic skin. She becomes one with its shaping song. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
November 5, 2025 at 4:23 PM
For the witch, there are times when the river becomes a fluid scrying, a constant flow of omens. It's tutelary spirit whispers wisdom in her ears, its magics ripple across her psychic skin. She becomes one with its shaping song. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Those talking openly about witchery often focus on the active aspects – possibly because they like telling people what to do. There's a neglect of passive enchantments, those parts of witchery where we listen, where we commune with the land. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
November 5, 2025 at 12:13 PM
Those talking openly about witchery often focus on the active aspects – possibly because they like telling people what to do. There's a neglect of passive enchantments, those parts of witchery where we listen, where we commune with the land. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Every threshold is an engine of magics, every place permits and suggests sorceries. When gifted reflection, we are also offered opportunity for scrying. Others call it pareidolia, witches call it being fluent in the fluid language of omens. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 29, 2025 at 4:42 PM
Every threshold is an engine of magics, every place permits and suggests sorceries. When gifted reflection, we are also offered opportunity for scrying. Others call it pareidolia, witches call it being fluent in the fluid language of omens. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The witch's arts include an ability to listen. To find spaces where the voice of the land is loud enough to hear. Whether wood clearing, hollow in hill or turn in the stream, she should hearken to the genii locorum. In their words, a living wisdom. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 29, 2025 at 12:03 PM
The witch's arts include an ability to listen. To find spaces where the voice of the land is loud enough to hear. Whether wood clearing, hollow in hill or turn in the stream, she should hearken to the genii locorum. In their words, a living wisdom. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
thank you, Bob! 🦊🌀🧡
I've been experimenting with rosehip ink earlier this year (slightly sticky and wonderful) Had meant to harvest my own rosehips but might have left it too late in the season now. Will have to ask #EmilyCBanting...
I've been experimenting with rosehip ink earlier this year (slightly sticky and wonderful) Had meant to harvest my own rosehips but might have left it too late in the season now. Will have to ask #EmilyCBanting...
October 27, 2025 at 2:34 PM
thank you, Bob! 🦊🌀🧡
I've been experimenting with rosehip ink earlier this year (slightly sticky and wonderful) Had meant to harvest my own rosehips but might have left it too late in the season now. Will have to ask #EmilyCBanting...
I've been experimenting with rosehip ink earlier this year (slightly sticky and wonderful) Had meant to harvest my own rosehips but might have left it too late in the season now. Will have to ask #EmilyCBanting...
Abundance is never a justification for greed. The witch looks around the corner of the now and harvests the hedge for tomorrow's ailments. She has no temptation to take the birds' share, nor the Faery's tithe. The witch's way refuses rapacity. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 22, 2025 at 5:07 PM
Abundance is never a justification for greed. The witch looks around the corner of the now and harvests the hedge for tomorrow's ailments. She has no temptation to take the birds' share, nor the Faery's tithe. The witch's way refuses rapacity. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The year cools. Untroubled skies become rare. These are the last days where the witch walks without coating her boots in mud. Our place in the year may change the spirits that speak, but it never diminishes the land's magics. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 22, 2025 at 11:15 AM
The year cools. Untroubled skies become rare. These are the last days where the witch walks without coating her boots in mud. Our place in the year may change the spirits that speak, but it never diminishes the land's magics. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Some of our most powerful rituals of connection require no wand, no knife, no fire. The witch walks and land folds itself into her. In contemplation of nature's mysteries, she has a knowing she is part of them. We are not divorced from any part. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 20, 2025 at 5:09 PM
Some of our most powerful rituals of connection require no wand, no knife, no fire. The witch walks and land folds itself into her. In contemplation of nature's mysteries, she has a knowing she is part of them. We are not divorced from any part. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Just occasionally, folklore records a reported glimpse of a Fox Bride’s marriage. However, as those who stumble into a grove illuminated by a hundred floating rushlights to see a skulk of wedding guests rarely return, this scarcity is somewhat understandable. – #EmilyCBanting #FolkloreSunday
October 19, 2025 at 12:04 PM
Just occasionally, folklore records a reported glimpse of a Fox Bride’s marriage. However, as those who stumble into a grove illuminated by a hundred floating rushlights to see a skulk of wedding guests rarely return, this scarcity is somewhat understandable. – #EmilyCBanting #FolkloreSunday
Autumn is not a mourning for summer. Autumn is not a fear of winter. The witch holds each season sacred, harvests joys and magics from them all. To be defined by a sense of loss and anxiety about is what to come is not the way to walk fiercely in the now. – #EmilyCBanting #ReenchantmentIsResistance
October 18, 2025 at 10:31 AM
Autumn is not a mourning for summer. Autumn is not a fear of winter. The witch holds each season sacred, harvests joys and magics from them all. To be defined by a sense of loss and anxiety about is what to come is not the way to walk fiercely in the now. – #EmilyCBanting #ReenchantmentIsResistance
The Fox Bride is considered mighty omen. Folklore has it to see one transforming at dusk of dawn is to have sign of fortune shifting – for good or for ill. However, few tales feature folk brave enough to follow the Fox Bride into the woods as she sheds her clothes and grows her fur. – #EmilyCBanting
October 17, 2025 at 2:12 PM
The Fox Bride is considered mighty omen. Folklore has it to see one transforming at dusk of dawn is to have sign of fortune shifting – for good or for ill. However, few tales feature folk brave enough to follow the Fox Bride into the woods as she sheds her clothes and grows her fur. – #EmilyCBanting
The witch knows water as spirit carrier, knows it as resonator between our bodies and enfolding otherworlds. Whether gifted as puddle in lane or hollow of felled tree, scrying mirrors are everywhere. Her fluid auguries suffer no drought. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 15, 2025 at 4:48 PM
The witch knows water as spirit carrier, knows it as resonator between our bodies and enfolding otherworlds. Whether gifted as puddle in lane or hollow of felled tree, scrying mirrors are everywhere. Her fluid auguries suffer no drought. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Witchery is relationships. There can be no good relationship without listening. The witch attends the river not just to learn all it has seen as it has carved the land, but to foster a bond with it. For respect starts in hearing others speak their truths. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 15, 2025 at 12:44 PM
Witchery is relationships. There can be no good relationship without listening. The witch attends the river not just to learn all it has seen as it has carved the land, but to foster a bond with it. For respect starts in hearing others speak their truths. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The Fox Brides of Hookland folklore are more than a placing the witch as a transforming thing, as shapeshifting seductress. They are a powerful linking of her power to woods and wild places; they are a fear-telling of ferality, her place outside society’s rigid structures. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
October 15, 2025 at 9:35 AM
The Fox Brides of Hookland folklore are more than a placing the witch as a transforming thing, as shapeshifting seductress. They are a powerful linking of her power to woods and wild places; they are a fear-telling of ferality, her place outside society’s rigid structures. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
The year withers. Dead paths across the ghost soil are revealed. Colder magics rise. Our boots are muddied, we begin to breath like dragons. Our witcheries turn with the season and our ancestors talk a little louder. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 11, 2025 at 11:02 AM
The year withers. Dead paths across the ghost soil are revealed. Colder magics rise. Our boots are muddied, we begin to breath like dragons. Our witcheries turn with the season and our ancestors talk a little louder. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The witch's calendar of harvest refuses ink-marked dates. She knows the turn year by berry swell, by movements through colour towards ripeness. She waits on the mistletoe drupe, not in hope of Christmas kisses, but future cures. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 8, 2025 at 7:05 PM
The witch's calendar of harvest refuses ink-marked dates. She knows the turn year by berry swell, by movements through colour towards ripeness. She waits on the mistletoe drupe, not in hope of Christmas kisses, but future cures. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The wood is a constant promise to the witch. It whispers of magics, wild harvest and omens to be found on its paths. It never breaks it oaths to her. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 8, 2025 at 2:15 PM
The wood is a constant promise to the witch. It whispers of magics, wild harvest and omens to be found on its paths. It never breaks it oaths to her. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Folk faith knows the hop as plant of luck, a thing to be slipped into a sleep pillow. The witch knows it as a sower of bitterness. A fuel for breakup spells, cock-drooping sorceries. We have its secret names, how to use its claws in our bindings. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 1, 2025 at 3:35 PM
Folk faith knows the hop as plant of luck, a thing to be slipped into a sleep pillow. The witch knows it as a sower of bitterness. A fuel for breakup spells, cock-drooping sorceries. We have its secret names, how to use its claws in our bindings. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The witch knows the turn of year through the sweet tang of apple rot carpet. She knows it in the slow striptease of hawthorn, knows it the wrinkling skin of berries. She requires no calendar but nature. Each season is sacred. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
October 1, 2025 at 12:44 PM
The witch knows the turn of year through the sweet tang of apple rot carpet. She knows it in the slow striptease of hawthorn, knows it the wrinkling skin of berries. She requires no calendar but nature. Each season is sacred. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
To walk the wood is to learn languages. Tree twist. Leaf tongue. Bramble scratch. Every dance of the wind through it has accent. Each path a unique voice. Listening to the wood fills the witch's ears with whispered wisdom. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
September 29, 2025 at 3:43 PM
To walk the wood is to learn languages. Tree twist. Leaf tongue. Bramble scratch. Every dance of the wind through it has accent. Each path a unique voice. Listening to the wood fills the witch's ears with whispered wisdom. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky