This year my birthday was one of the “big ones”; you know, the ones that end in a 5 or 0. My big present was a trip to France, entirely planned and handled by my husband.
I could write a post about how loving that was, since its my been job to do all of the travel planning and prep for decades now. And that he was deeply worried that he’d overlook a detail and mess it up.
Instead . . .
We spent several nights at a hotel in the middle of basically nowhere in the center of the Loire Valley. This place had a strong sense of being eco friendly in ways that weren’t green-washing. The new buildings (added to the grounds of a very old chateau) were primarily from recycled materials, included water and energy saving systems, and were placed within a landscape that was carefully managed wildness. No lawns. They even kept bees and served the honey at breakfast.
The weather was mostly cloudy and variable, but one night it cleared for a little bit. Our porch faced east and we stood outside in the warm darkness and did a little stargazing. Jupiter was just rising, and we could see Cassiopeia overhead just a little north, and Cygnus standing right over the horizon. Ursa Major stood right overhead and we used it to find Polaris. We told each other the myths behind the constellations and snuggled under a blanket until too many clouds formed and we couldn’t see well enough.
It was magic.
We were conscious of doing exactly what our great-greats had done for centuries. Looking att he night sky and telling stories, being together in the darkness.
Magic isn’t always ritual and ceremony.
Connecting to our ancestors isn’t always formal.
We are witches in the moment, in all moments.