Eclipse Portal is coming in hot and taking no prisoners. Here are some extra unusual things we’re noticing during this time.

We cannot tame the lion with whips and cruelty. No beaten beasts are loyal.

The Witches Have No King

We sit nearby and talk to them. Wonder what they think of our clothes, of our homes, of our choices. We wonder what they are doing now and sometimes we ask like they are with us. Because they are.

Be a witch or don’t. Do whatever makes you feel alive. Call yourself a witch today and a prophet tomorrow. Or remain unnamed, unlabeled, undefinable.

Are you a real witch? Maybe better asked, Are you real?

Doubt is a hex — so are we hexing ourselves?

How will you know when the Old Ones crawl out from the Earth to deliver what you asked for on a bone-crusted platter?

When we stand in the way of beauty, we are standing in magic.

If the moon grew teeth and ate all the stars, would the night grow colder, yet still be blue-black?

The sun is so bossy.

And while it’s true, any hat that sits upon the head of a witch is, in fact, a witch hat, no hat sits quite like a crown fashioned from bones.

I wake in the spring remembering winter, remembering my death, remembering yours. Were you buried too?