Greetings, my lovelies,

Apparently turning 56 opened some kind of spiritual floodgate, because once Hestia got me thinking about how I intend to live the rest of my life, another piece of the puzzle started falling into place.

Actually, this part started the night before my birthday.

Ronnie and I were at Michaels looking at Halloween decorations. Anyone who knows me knows I love autumn, Halloween, witches, and all the fun that comes with that time of year. So naturally, I was looking at the witchy stuff—skulls, ghosts, black cats, cauldrons, creepy things, spooky things, and enough macabre décor to make you wonder if the merchandising department was doing okay.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I heard—or felt—something very clearly:

You’re getting too dark. You need to come back toward the light. Stop now. There is more than darkness.

Well, that got my attention.

Not because I suddenly decided there was something wrong with Halloween, witchcraft, darkness, or any of the things I enjoy. There isn’t. It was more like someone had reached over, gently turned my head in another direction, and said, Look.

And what did I see?

Autumn.

Not Halloween. Autumn.

Suddenly I noticed the leaves, pumpkins, apples, harvest decorations, warm colors, greenery, flowers, and everything else I’d practically walked past because I’d been so focused on the witchy Halloween section.

I stood there thinking, How the hell did I forget autumn?

There Is More Than Samhain

Somewhere along the way, I had become so focused on bringing more witchcraft into our home that I started looking at September, October, and November almost entirely through the lens of Halloween and Samhain.

Excuse me, September. Apparently I owe you an apology. And poor November was probably standing somewhere with her arms crossed wondering what the hell she had to do to get some attention around here.

I love Samhain. It matters to me. Halloween is fun as hell, and nobody needs to come for my witches because I’m keeping them.

But Samhain is one part of the season.

Autumn is apples and pumpkins, leaves changing color, cooler mornings, harvests, warm foods, candles, blankets, spices, changing light, and that unmistakable feeling in the air when summer finally starts packing her bags.

It is preparation and transition. Nature begins slowing down. The days shorten, the light changes, trees release what they no longer need, and the world starts preparing for rest.

There is so much happening before we ever reach October 31, and I almost missed it because I was staring too hard at the skeletons.

Well, that’s embarrassing.

A Witch Isn’t Supposed to Be One Color

That realization led me somewhere else.

I had started leaning harder into a darker aesthetic because somewhere along the way, I started connecting darkness with what being a witch was supposed to look like.

But here’s the thing: I don’t even wear black.

Unless I have to.

I own black bras and underwear, and I have one pair of black leggings that don’t leave the house. That’s about the extent of my lifelong commitment to black.

So exactly when did I decide that my spiritual life and my home needed to start looking like black and grey were issued with the witch membership card?

That’s not me.

Give me green. Lots of green. Give me blues, purples, reds, oranges, golds, browns, creams, pinks, and whatever other color makes me happy when I see it.

Why the hell would my spirituality need a dress code when I don’t even dress that way myself?

Mother Nature certainly doesn’t.

She gives us green forests, blue skies, pink flowers, purple sunsets, golden sunlight, orange leaves, red berries, brown earth, white snow, and more shades of everything than I could possibly name. Mother Nature apparently walked into the cosmic craft store, grabbed the biggest box of crayons she could find, and said, I’ll take the whole damn thing.

I respect that.

If my path is rooted in nature, why would I deliberately ignore most of her palette just to look like somebody else’s idea of a witch?

I wouldn’t. Because that’s not my path, and it’s definitely not me.

Darkness Is Sacred. So Is Light.

This is where I need to make something very clear: I am not rejecting darkness.

Darkness has a place. Night has a place. Death has a place. Grief has a place. Samhain has a place. The moon has her darkness just as she has her fullness. Even the earth needs periods of rest before new life begins again.

A witch who honors nature can’t pretend those things don’t exist simply because they’re uncomfortable.

But the opposite is also true.

There is birth, growth, sunshine, flowers, harvest, laughter, love, warmth, color, pleasure, celebration, rest, renewal, and joy.

A witch isn’t all about the macabre and death. At least this witch isn’t.

I don’t want to live permanently on one side of the cycle while claiming to honor the whole thing.

Darkness is part of my path. It is not the entirety of my path.

That distinction suddenly mattered a great deal.

The Wheel Keeps Turning

This is where everything really started clicking for me.

After autumn comes winter, and I love winter too—especially everything that comes with the holidays.

Winter isn’t just darkness, cold, bare trees, and nature going quiet. There is stillness in winter, absolutely, and I want to honor that stillness instead of constantly wishing the season away. But there is also so much life tucked inside that quiet.

There are holiday lights glowing against dark evenings, decorated trees, wreaths, candles, warm kitchens, ridiculous Christmas movies, music we’ve heard approximately 47 billion times and somehow still sing along to, gifts chosen for people we love, traditions, food, family, celebrations, and homes that somehow feel warmer simply because it’s cold outside.

There is Yule and the Winter Solstice, the longest night giving way to the gradual return of the sun. There is Christmas and all the secular fun and traditions I love about the season. There is New Year’s Eve, when one year closes and another begins, and New Year’s Day with that strange feeling of a blank calendar sitting in front of us.

Other people have their winter holidays and traditions too. They don’t have to be mine for me to respect their place in someone else’s life.

That’s part of honoring the Wheel too.

Winter can be sacred and silly at the same time, and honestly, I rather like it that way. I want the stillness and the celebrations. I want candles and Christmas lights, quiet winter mornings and nights when the house is glowing, reflection and laughter, sacred moments and completely ridiculous ones.

Then the decorations come down. The house gets quieter, winter settles into herself again, and I don’t want to rush through that part simply because the holidays are over.

Spring will come when she’s ready.

Green will begin pushing through the earth again. Flowers will return, days will lengthen, and birds will become obnoxiously cheerful at ridiculous hours of the morning. The world wakes up and suddenly everything feels possible again.

Then summer gets her turn with sunshine, long days, water, abundance, heat, vacations, gardens, thunderstorms, and everything growing like it has somewhere important to be.

Eventually summer begins leaning toward autumn again.

Around and around we go.

The Wheel doesn’t stop because one season happens to be our favorite, and nature doesn’t apologize for changing.

Maybe that’s something I need to remember about myself too.

I Want to Walk the Whole Wheel

This is where my spiritual path seems to be taking me now.

I want to honor the Wheel of the Year—not merely the Sabbats marked on a calendar, but the actual seasons happening around me. I want the colors, scents, foods, traditions, celebrations, stillness, changes in light, and little things that tell me where I am in the year.

I want to pay attention.

I don’t want to spend September waiting for October, October waiting for Samhain, winter waiting for spring, or Monday waiting for Friday. That’s an awful lot of life spent waiting for some other moment to arrive.

Ronnie and I talked about the house, and we’ve decided the Halloween decorations will stay through Halloween. Then they’ll get packed away.

The witchy things are different.

Some of those things aren’t Halloween decorations at all. They’re part of my spiritual practice and part of our home, so they’ll stay. We’ll simply decorate around them as the seasons change.

The witchcraft remains while the scenery changes.

I love that.

Autumn gets to look like autumn. Winter gets her lights and celebrations. Spring gets flowers and new life. Summer gets sunshine and whatever else belongs to her. The altar remains, the spiritual pieces remain, and our home moves with the Wheel instead of looking like Spirit Halloween signed a 30-year lease.

That feels much more like me.

Maybe This Wasn’t Really About Decorations

The more I’ve thought about what happened in Michaels, the more I wonder whether the decorations were simply the thing that got my attention.

You’re getting too dark.

At first, I took that almost literally.

Then came the shower conversation with Hestia. I started thinking about honor, integrity, peace, joy, home, and how I want to live. Suddenly, darkness started meaning something much bigger than black decorations and skulls.

Maybe I was being shown something about balance.

Maybe I needed to remember that I can honor darkness without building my entire identity around it. I can walk through grief without making grief my home. I can feel anger without allowing anger to become my personality. I can honor death while celebrating the absolute hell out of being alive.

I can love Samhain and still lose my mind over a beautiful autumn tree.

Actually, that sounds much more like me.

Coming Back to My Own Path

I think I had started drifting away from myself without realizing it.

That’s uncomfortable to admit, but it’s true.

Sometimes we spend enough time around another person’s ideas, aesthetic, beliefs, or way of practicing that little pieces begin sneaking into our own lives. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being inspired by other people. That’s part of learning.

The problem comes when we stop asking ourselves, Do I actually believe this? Do I actually like this? Is this actually me?

I’m asking those questions now.

My path has to feel like mine.

That doesn’t mean someone else’s path is wrong because it doesn’t look like mine. Quite the opposite. The more I think about nature, the more ridiculous that idea seems.

Not every tree is an oak. Not every flower is a rose. Not every bird sings the same song, and thank goodness because imagine how boring that would be.

Why would witches be any different?

We don’t all honor the same gods and goddesses. Some witches don’t work with deities at all. For most of my own path, I didn’t. Deity work is actually relatively new to me.

We don’t all practice the same way, celebrate exactly the same things, hold identical beliefs, or see the world through identical eyes.

And we shouldn’t have to.

I believe witches can come together while having different deities, spiritual beliefs, political standings, traditions, practices, backgrounds, and opinions. Respecting another person’s path doesn’t require becoming that person.

Unity does not require uniformity.

To me, honoring nature means honoring individuality too.

There Is Room for All of It

This is what I’m beginning to understand about my own path.

There is room for darkness and light. There is room for Hekate’s torch and Hestia’s hearth. There is room for Samhain and Christmas lights, skulls and flowers, autumn leaves and spring blossoms, quiet winter mornings and obnoxiously bright summer afternoons.

There is room for grief and laughter, sacred ritual and sitting on the couch playing a video game while drinking coffee, mystery and completely ordinary life.

Because that’s life.

Nature isn’t one thing, and neither am I.

Maybe being intentional about my spiritual path isn’t about becoming more witchy. Maybe it’s about becoming more myself.

I want to walk the whole Wheel. I want to notice where I am instead of constantly reaching for another season, another version of myself, or somebody else’s idea of what my path should look like.

I want the colors Mother Nature actually gave us. I want darkness when darkness belongs and light when light returns. I want celebrations when it’s time to celebrate and stillness when it’s time to be still.

I want all of it.

The Halloween decorations will eventually go back into their boxes because November deserves better than being treated like October’s leftovers. Then winter will arrive with her holidays, lights, celebrations, and stillness. Spring will eventually wake everything up. Summer will stretch out beneath the sun. And when it’s time, autumn will find her way back to me again.

The Wheel will keep turning whether I pay attention or not.

I intend to pay attention.

Maybe that’s what the voice in Michaels was really trying to tell me.

I wasn’t being asked to abandon darkness. I wasn’t being told to stop being a witch, put away the cauldron, and frolic through a meadow wearing white while bluebirds braid my hair.

Good grief.

I was being reminded to look up.

There is an entire beautiful, colorful, changing world beyond the place where I’d been standing. There are seasons I haven’t reached yet, celebrations still waiting for me, quiet days, loud days, flowers and falling leaves, sunlight and moonlight, beginnings and endings.

Darkness was never the whole story.

Neither was light.

The whole story is the Wheel.

And maybe coming back toward the light isn’t really about leaving some darker part of myself behind.

Maybe it’s about remembering that I was always meant to walk through all of it—darkness, light, color, stillness, celebration, endings, beginnings, and every beautiful messy thing in between.

Maybe it’s about coming home to my own path.

And, finally, back to all of myself.