The Witching Hour
I can feel it in my bones as the hour draws near.
That time when worlds collide, when planes of
existence begin to blend together, creating rifts
and tears where none should exist. A weight begins
to settle in my stomach, a feeling of warmth that
spreads through my body – I must prepare.
I lay my tools on the alter in front of me: a bowl
of water, a dish of soil, a lit candle, smoking
incense, and a gleaming silver athame. Feeling
confident that all is as it should be, I settle back
on my heels and close my eyes, taking deep
purifying breaths for several minutes. As the
clock chimes three, my eyes snap open.
The witching hour is upon me.
The ritual is a familiar routine, bless the space,
invoke the elements, thank the ancestors. I feel
grounded as I commune with the spirits that guide
me. As my time in the circle draws to a close,
I once again show my gratitude for all the help
I have received over the previous year and ask
for guidance and protection in the year to come.
I place my sacred supplies back in their
designated homes and make my way to
the comfortable bed that is now beckoning
my weary body. Laying my head down on
my soft pillow, I drift off to sleep with happiness
in my heart and a clean slate for the new year.