dark-corner-cunning

[dark-corner-cunning]

🌑 Dark Corner Cunning Folk Wisdom: New Moon in Cancer 🦀

Well, here we are sittin’ beneath a New Moon in Cancer, the tender-hearted sign of hearth, kin, and deep-bellied memory. This moon slips in quiet, but don’t mistake her softness for weakness. Cancer moons—especially the dark ones—stir the soul’s well and ask: What needs tending? What needs mending? And where do you feel most at home—in the world, and in yourself?

---------

🪐 The Astrology of It

This new moon lands at 3° Cancer and is conjunct Venus, who’s also tucked in this watery sign. That brings a wash of sweetness, longing, and a strong pull toward emotional safety, family roots, and comfort. Venus in Cancer says: Nourish what you love, feed what you want to grow. It’s also squaring the North Node in Aries, so we’re being asked to reckon with a truth: some of the comfort we cling to might be what’s holding us back from becoming.

Use this time to reset the emotional altar. Cancer is ruled by the Moon herself—this is moon-magic at its rawest. Dream, plant intentions, and call home the parts of you that’ve been out wandering.

---------

🌑 Dark Corner Cunning Wisdom

In our hills, Cancer season is when the fireflies rise and the garden starts showin’ its true colors. It’s a time of guarding what grows—not just the plants, but your peace, your people, and your power.

We say:

“What you feed in the dark is what you harvest in the light.”

This new moon is for feeding the soul quietly. Lighting a single lamp. Whisperin’ prayers to the house spirits. Pullin’ weeds from the garden and from your heart. It’s a hearth moon—not a stormy one. No grand gestures. Just small, real magic.

---------

🌾 Appalachian Folk Wisdom for the Cancer Moon

In the old days, folks used to say the Cancer Moon was best for:

Preserving food (especially pickling or canning—what’s kept now sustains you later)

Mending clothes or quilts

Warding the home with iron nails in door frames or a jar of salt by the hearth

Sitting with grief and naming what still aches (especially when it lingers like a ghost)

It’s also a moon for visiting the old family plots, speaking to your ancestors, and tending graves with flowers or water. Cancer rules memory. Memory, in our kind of work, is a spell in itself.

---------

🕯 Practical Folk Ideas for This New Moon:

Here’s a working to consider under this soft-bellied moon: Sit quiet somewhere you feel safe—be it porch, garden, or bath—and speak gently to the parts of yourself that’ve been scattered, stretched thin, or gone silent. Light a candle or touch the earth, and say out loud what you’re ready to call home. This ain't about force—it’s about invitation. Let the dark moon be the empty cup you fill with your own spirit. You can even tuck a small stone or thread in your pocket to carry as a reminder of what’s returned to you. And if you’re more of the modern sort (perfect for the watery cancer moon), I recently shared a diffuser spell to call your power back with breath and scent—follow the link for that bit of water magic.

---------

This Cancer New Moon is a soft one—but potent. She asks us to nest, to nurture, and to not be ashamed of needing rest or refuge. In the Dark Corner, we know that every wild witch needs a strong hearth fire—and this moon’s a good time to tend it.

So gather yourself. Rock the child within. Bless your home, your kin, and your roots. And remember: not all power is loud.

The Moon is dark. The land is listening. So listen back.

[dark-corner-cunning]

The Tale of Old Mother Moss Cap & The Gift of the Green: A Summer Solstice Folktale

Summer Solstice Blessings! This bit of folklore was penned for the Solstice—rooted deep in my own tradition and this long, green-breathed season. But it didn’t just come from the head—it came from the heart. It was stirred to life by my dear witch sister Kay. The way she tends the land like it’s family, how critters come right up to her like she belongs to the woods, and the way she carries that quiet, rooted knowing—that’s the mark of someone touched by Old Mother Moss Cap. Kay’s one of the rare ones born with The Green in her bones.

Long ago, when the world still remembered how to listen, the southern wind would wander up through the hollers ‘round midsummer, warm and thick with the scent of sassafras and honeysuckle. That’s how folks knew Old Mother Moss Cap was wakin’. She comes slow, like a creeping vine, soft-footed and wide-hipped, with moss on her shoulders and green in her breath.

She comes from the Southern Road—that warm, red-dirt path of the year—leading us from the fire of spring into the deep cradle of summer. Her skirts drag the ground, and where she treads, gardens swell, weeds whisper secrets, and the land hums soft with abundance.

Old Mother Moss Cap don’t holler. She don’t strike. She nurtures. She teaches. She is the steady hand, the soft hush, the full belly. And she is the keeper of The Green.

Now, The Green ain’t just leaves and vines—it’s the living breath of nature’s spirit. It’s the life-thread that runs through rain and root, beast and breeze. It’s when the woods are so full you can’t see the sky for leaves. It’s holler medicine and old granny wisdom, animal tracks, birdsong, and the heartbeat of the land.

And in the Dark Corner, they say some are born with the Gift of the Green.

But others? Well… they’re chosen.

Old Mother Moss Cap watches the land, and when she finds someone with a soft step and a deep love for growing things—someone who sings to the soil and speaks kindly to beasts—she may place her blessing upon them. These are the granny and mountain witches, the wise ones, the ones who carry earth under their fingernails and know the language of herbs like it’s stitched into their bones.

They are the ones who can call the animals to come and sit awhile—not out of fear, but trust. The ones who feel storms in their knees, who know which weed soothes a sting and which bark cools a fever. They don’t just plant gardens—they tend souls.

And Old Mother Moss-Cap's greatest gift? She gives them her Green Thumb.

That Green Thumb ain’t just a knack for plants—it’s her mark, a sign that the bearer has been called to serve the land and their kinfolk. These wise ones become keepers of knowledge, medicine-makers, storytellers. They teach how to harvest without harm, how to dry and store for the cold moons ahead, when Old Mother Storm Cap stirs in the mountain fog.

When the Summer Solstice rolls in, and the land is thick with life, folks leave out offerings—bundles of herbs, sweet cornbread, a bit of honey on a stone. And they whisper:

“Old Mother Moss Cap, walk with us. Bless the hands that plant and gather. Let your Green flow through our kin. Teach us to heal, to tend, to remember.”

And when the wind shifts just right, warm and green-scented, they say she answers.

__________________________________________________________

For Those Who Walk the Green Way:

Leave an offering on Summer Solstice: water, herbs, or food from the land.

Speak to your plants like kin. The Green responds to love.

If you dream of moss, hares, or hear your name whispered in the leaves, listen close. You might be chosen.

Those with the Green Thumb are called to serve. Tend the land, share what you know, and walk soft.

Honor the old ways and pass them on. That’s how the Green stays alive.

Blessed be the Solstice and the hands who keep it green. 

[dark-corner-cunning]

Strawberry Moon in Sagittarius 🍓🌕♐

Ripen. Speak true. Walk the long road.

The Strawberry Moon has hit us full in the early hours here, peaking at 3:44 AM. Round as a berry and bright enough to light up the back woods, this moon sits in the fire sign of Sagittarius— the wanderer, the truth-teller, the wild-arrow soul. This moon is known far and wide as the Strawberry Moon, named not for its color but for its timing. Around these hills, June was always when the wild strawberries blushed and ripened in the fields and thickets—small, sweet, and gone too quick if you didn’t get to ‘em first. Folks would take their baskets out early, before the deer and birds beat them to it, and they’d thank the land with a song or a bit of bread left by the patch.

---------

🏹 Sagittarius Moon Medicine

With the full moon in Sagittarius, we’re called to look farther, stretch wider, and speak bolder. This is fire sign wisdom—truth-seeking, freedom-loving, and wild-hearted. Sagittarius isn’t content to sit and stew. It wants to know, to go, to say it plain, and to find meaning in the mess.

But here’s the catch: under a Sag moon, it’s easy to get caught in the big idea and forget the grounding. You might feel restless. You might want to throw it all away and run. So let this moon show you where your truth lives—but don’t forget to walk it back home.

In the sky, Jupiter, Sagittarius’s ruling planet, sits in Gemini—offering a blessing of clever thought, wit, and message-spinning. This is a moon for storytellers, path-seekers, and those who’ve got something burning in their chest they need to say out loud.

---------

🍓 Appalachian Folk Wisdom for This Moon

In the Appalachian way, the Strawberry Moon marks a season of ripening and readiness—of recognizing what’s come to fullness and what’s asking to be gathered, savored, or shared. Strawberries were once the first fruits of the season to ripen, and with them came joy, reunion, and kinship. The old ones said strawberries grew where peace was meant to be made—and some even called them the heart’s fruit.

Offer strawberry or honey to the land spirits—sweet gifts for sweet allies. Place them at the edge of your garden, a thicket, or where wild strawberries once grew.

Listen to the whippoorwill—some say when she sings under a full moon, she carries messages from the dead. Sit quiet and see who might be calling.

Write your truth and burn it—not to forget it, but to free it. Sagittarius don’t do secrets well.

If you dream of walking far roads this week, pay attention. That’s spirit stirring.

---------

🌕 Full Moon Ideas & Folk Practice

1. Make a Full Moon Strawberry Cordial or Jam Gather fresh strawberries (store-bought’ll do if wild ones ain’t to be found), simmer them with sugar, lemon, and mint. Stir clockwise, whispering a wish into the bubbling pot for what you want to grow sweeter in your life.

2. Do a Truth-Calling Candle Spell Carve an arrow or the word truth into a red or purple candle. Anoint it with cinnamon oil or a dab of moon-charged strawberry juice. Light it and speak the thing you’ve been scared to say—even if just to yourself.

3. Map a Pilgrimage Sagittarius rules the long road and the big picture. Whether it’s a physical trip or a spiritual journey, use this moon to name your next quest. Write it out. Plot a path. Make a talisman for the trail ahead.

4. Circle with Kinfolk or Coven Sit outside if you can. Share stories. Speak truths. Laugh. Sagittarius moons are made for firepit philosophy and big-hearted honesty.

---------

This Full Strawberry Moon is a wild one—part sweetness, part blaze. She don’t come to whisper; she comes to remind you that joy is worth chasing, truth is worth telling, and ripe things don’t last forever. Gather what you can. Speak what’s real. And leave a little offering for what’s yet to bloom.

“Ripen when you’re ready. Speak when it burns. And never waste a moon this bright.”

[dark-corner-cunning]

The Devil in My Bones: On Murkrim, the Witch’s Shadow and the Horned Hush

Author’s Note:

This is the story of Murkrim—what I call the Devil. Not the devil they scared us with in church, but the one I’ve met in dreams, in dirt, in trance, in fire. This is the Devil I know. The one that stirs truth. That tests, teaches, and lives deep inside the witch’s bones. I’m writing it because it’s real, and it’s mine.

--------

My Devil Ain’t the Church’s Devil

They say every witch meets the Devil sooner or later. So let’s be clear right out the gate—Murkrim ain’t the Church’s devil.

It ain’t some red-skinned boogeyman made to scare you into behaving. It ain’t sittin’ in a pit of flames waitin’ to torture sinners. I don’t walk with a pitchforked parody of evil—and I sure as hell don’t worship fear.

What I do walk with is Murkrim—my name for the Devil as known by witches like me. It’s the one who stands quiet in the center of all crossroads. Who waits, not with damnation, but with a choice. A fucking mirror. A question.

“Are you ready to know what you really are?”

And let me tell you, that answer’s never comfortable. But it’s always necessary.

---------

Murkrim Is the Witch’s Devil

Murkrim isn’t a god. Isn’t a ghost. Isn’t even a “he,” really. It’s older than language and gender and all those tidy boxes we try to cram power into. Murkrim is the dark before the spark. The breath before the spell. The shadow behind the want. The Void in purest form.

It didn’t show up to me in books.

It showed up in silence.

Like fog settlin’ into the pine. Like everything goin’ too quiet in the woods—the birds hush, the breeze dies, and your skin starts itchin’ like the air itself is watchin’.

That ain’t peace. That’s presence. That’s Murkrim.

It’s what I call the First Want. The hunger the world had to become. It’s the Void—not emptiness, but the everything-and-nothing that births all things. Murkrim is the Still Root. The Horned Hush. It is choice, raw and unflinching.

---------

The Witch’s Devil Doesn’t Speak in Thunder—It Moves Through Ruin

I didn’t meet Murkrim in a field under moonlight.

I met Murkrim in the void of an eclipse, lying in my tub shivering in water black as ink, whisperin’ into the darkness with a voice I barely recognized as my own.

It was 3 AM at the peak of an eclipse, and the sky had gone still.

The kind of still that don’t feel holy—it feels hollow. And I was askin’ for answers. For truth. For what was mine.

Be careful with that shit, by the way.

Because Murkrim don’t give you answers like a fortune cookie. It doesn’t pat you on the head and hand you what you want wrapped up in silk and good luck. It rips the roof off.

Murkrim don’t speak in thunder—it answers with collapse.

That ritual cracked open my whole life.

The days after were like watchin’ the Tower card play out in real time.

Things I thought were sacred—my practice, my path, my relationships, my identity—gone.

Burned down with a brutal kind of grace.

It wasn’t punishment. It was precision.

Murkrim didn’t say, “Let me destroy you.”

It said, “Let me destroy what you thought was you, so you can meet the one who’s always been underneath.”

What Murkrim gives isn’t comfort. It’s clarity. It hands you the blade, and then watches what you do with it.

I came out of that ritual singed.

But I built again—from ash, from bone, from truth.

And what rose wasn’t perfect.

It was real.

So no, Murkrim ain’t evil.

But it is a motherfucker when it’s ready to cut through what’s false.

And thank the dark for that.

-------

This Devil Lives in the Center

Murkrim lives at the center of the crossroads—where all roads meet and all spirits stir. It’s where the witch plants her feet when every path is possible, and none of them come with guarantees. It is stillness in a place of motion. The moment before the choice that changes everything.

It don’t walk beside you like a spirit guide.

It walks through you.

Because Murkrim ain’t just a force out there in the dark. It’s in here, too. It’s the part of you that don’t flinch when you’re tired of playin’ nice. The part that knows when to cut ties, raise hell, speak truth, and light a fire under your own damn feet.

Murkrim is your shadow. Your want. Your instinct. Your pain-honed power.

It ain’t your enemy.

It’s your reflection, if you’re brave enough to look.

--------

Murkrim Comes in Many Faces

Sometimes Murkrim shows up as a horned figure in dream. Sometimes it’s a crow on the fence line watchin’ too long. Sometimes it’s the feeling you get right before you do something bold and terrifying and exactly what your soul’s been beggin’ for.

And yeah—I’ve heard it speak in that same voice as Black Phillip in The VVitch:

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Damn right, I would!

But not for decadence.

For freedom.

For truth.

For sovereignty.

And that’s what Murkrim offers—not indulgence, but full-bodied, fire-in-your-gut, fuck-what-they-think living.

---------

We Are Murkrim’s Altars

I don’t pray to Murkrim.

I reckon with it.

I don’t worship it.

I live in response to it.

Murkrim don’t want offerings of incense and sweet wine (though I’ve left both). What it wants is you—whole, aware, honest. It wants your pleasure. Your sovereignty. Your rage, your lust, your clarity. It wants you unmasked.

We are Murkrim’s living temples and altars. Our truth is the offering.

When I stand at the crossroads—whether in the woods or in my spirit—I don’t always have the answers.

But I’ve learned to stand still, breathe deep, and say:

“Alright, Devil. I’m listening.”

And every damn time, the hush answers back.

---------

If this stirred something in your bones…

Don’t just keep it to yourself.

Leave a sign.

Share how your Devil speaks to you—or the first time you met your own hush.

And if you walk the crooked road with the Old Mothers, keep watch—I’ve got more to say, and Murkrim’s not done speaking.

[dark-corner-cunning]

"Callin' My Spirit Home" Diffuser Spell: Blending Old Ways with New Tools to Reclaim Your Power 

Last week, I had the pleasure of spending time with one of my magical coven sisters—the kind of witch who sees stardust in spreadsheets and conjures clarity with the hum of a diffuser and an essential oil blend. Our coven is a patchwork quilt of paths: kitchen witches, green witches, cosmic conjurers, spirit-tenders, and root-workers. And that’s the beauty of it. We’re stitched together by shared knowing, even if we walk different trails through the woods.

While we were catching up, she asked me how I’d go about crafting a power-calling spell—something to gather up the pieces of oneself scattered by stress, folks, old stories, and soul leaks. Now, this sister is wide open to the old folk ways, but I know her magic flows through glass diffusers, planetary alignments, and oil blends stirred by moonlight. So I thought, what better way to honor her path than with a spell that fits her flavor of witchcraft—practical, potent, and a little celestial. And with Gemini season on the breeze—ruled by the air element, the breath, the twin mind—I knew exactly what to do: create a “Callin’ My Spirit Home” diffuser spell.

Now you might be wonderin’—why bother with a diffuser?

These are some of her amazingly beautiful diffuser altars

A diffuser might not be something you’d find in your great-grandmother’s witch chest, but let’s be honest—the craft has always evolved with what’s on hand. From cauldrons to crock pots, mortar and pestle to coffee grinders, we witches are nothing if not resourceful. A diffuser turns essential oils into vapor, releasing their spirits into the air to cleanse, enchant, and shift the mood. It’s fumigation magic without the smoke—a perfect solution for folks in shared homes, apartments, or places where burning ain't an option. Some even come with glowing LED lights you can match to your spell’s intent, adding a layer of color magic with no extra fuss. You can set it and let it do its work while you brew your tea or tend to other matters.

Each oil you drop in that diffuser carries a story—a spirit. These aren’t just pretty smells. They’re the concentrated soul of the plant, drawn out through steam and sacred distillation, bottled like whispers waiting to be released. In magical terms, oils are sacred allies in liquid form. They’re fast-moving, air-aligned, and fire-touched—perfect for spells of communication, calling, enchantment, influence, protection, and flight. When you use them, you’re not just working with scent—you’re conjuring through the breath of the land itself.

But here’s the heart of it: you can absolutely start with correspondences—there’s wisdom in tradition, and plenty of oils have well-known magical uses: lavender for peace, rosemary for clarity, patchouli for grounding. But don’t stop there. Witchcraft lives in the felt sense, not just the facts. After you look up what an oil is “for,” take a moment to ask the oil itself. Open the bottle. Breathe it in. What rises up in you? Does it root you, lift you, stir an old memory from the holler of your heart? That’s plant spirit talking. That’s where relationship begins. The real work isn’t in parroting a chart—it’s in listening and feeling. When you blend, speak your spell out loud. Hum if no one’s listening. Name what you’re calling back. And once your blend is made, treat it like a spirit talisman—store it with care, like moon water or a charm bag, on a shelf that’s seen some prayers.

This is how old ways live in new vessels. This is how a diffuser becomes an altar.

And for any witch out there who’s felt a little untethered, blown about by change or folks’ expectations—know this: your spirit ain’t lost. It’s listening. Sometimes it just needs a little calling home.

----------------

“Callin’ My Spirit Home”

A Spell of Power Return Through Mist, Music, and Memory

Tools – Your Modern Witch’s Altar Setup:

A diffuser (your spirit vessel)

Essential oils, intuitively chosen:

Rosemary – for remembrance and mental sovereignty

Frankincense – to lift your spirit above the weight

Patchouli – to root you deep in body and truth

Black Spruce or Cedar – for protection and ancestral return

Optional citrus (Orange or Lemon) – to call back brightness and joy

Crystals, as circle guardians: (Optional)

Amethyst – spiritual clarity, psychic return

Black Tourmaline – protection from what clings and drains

Labradorite – reintegration of the witch-self, the unseen made seen

Clear Quartz – amplifier of will, essence, and magic

Charms or tokens of power:

Your chosen jewelry, ritual knife, broom charm, sun token, mirror pendant, or other items imbued with your fire

Arrange them in a loose ring around the diffuser—your magic remembering itself

A music track that makes you feel powerful, wild, sovereign (This is your Witch’s Song—voice, rhythm, and breath that calls your spirit back. Play it loud.)

-----------------

✦ When to Cast:

Preferably the New Moon but it can be cast anytime

-----------------

The Spell:

1. Prepare the Vessel Fill your diffuser with water. Add your oils. Set your crystals and charms in a sacred ring around it—like the bones of a circle, like the spirits at a fire.

Hold your hands over it and speak:

“Mist of memory, breath of soul— Stir the spirit, make me whole. What was scattered, what was lost, Returns to me, no matter the cost.”

2. Begin the Song Play your chosen track—something that stirs your blood and lifts your chest. Let the beat summon you. Let your head nod, let your fingers twitch. You are calling your name back through every note.

3. Turn on the Diffuser – Breathe & Speak Watch the mist rise. As it curls in the air, breathe deep. Let the scent enter you. Let it remind your body it is yours.

Then speak, chant, or whisper:

“By scent and smoke, I call me home. From other’s lip, from stranger’s hand, From every spell I left unmanned— From every no and every yes, From trauma’s grip and old regrets— From threads frayed loose in fear or pain, I weave myself back whole again.

Power mine and name I bear, Return to me through breath and air.

So it is spoken. So it is sealed.”

4. Anoint the Air Cup the mist in your hands, draw it to your chest three times. Let your music carry it deeper. Let the power rise.

5. Close the Circle When the track ends and the mist slows, say:

“I am returned. I am whole. My magic is mine again.”

Let the circle of crystals and charms sit until the water finishes diffusing. Then dismantle it slowly—keeping the power settled, not rushed.

May the old ways root and new ways bloom!

[dark-corner-cunning]

Dark Corner Cunning Folk Wisdom: New Moon in Gemini ♊🌑

The new moon rolls in quiet today, and she’s sitting in Gemini, the sign of words, wit, and connection. It’s a moon for spellwork that uses your voice, your writing, your thoughts—and the winds that carry ‘em.

Gemini is an air sign ruled by Mercury, known for its sharp mind, quick wit, and love of connection. It governs the 3rd house in the natural zodiac, which deals with communication, learning, local travel, siblings, and the exchange of ideas. Gemini energy is curious, clever, and constantly seeking new information. It thrives on conversation, storytelling, and mental stimulation, making it the sign most aligned with wordcraft, teaching, writing, and thinking on your feet. When Gemini’s in play, spells that involve speech, study, or social connections carry extra charge.

---------

🌀 Appalachian Wisdom for the Gemini New Moon:

In the old ways, folks here in the mountains treated the new moon like a blank slate. Not much light to work with, but plenty of power. It’s a time to plant something—not just in the ground, but in the spirit. And when that moon lands in Gemini? Your words become seeds.

Granny witches around these parts used to write wishes on leaves or scraps of paper and set ‘em loose in the wind. Said the breeze would carry ‘em straight to the spirit world—but only if you were honest about what you wanted. Lie or twist your words, and that wind would twist ‘em right back on you.

---------

🔮 Practical Folk Wisdom:

“Speak plain under a Gemini moon. If your words come from the heart, they’ll catch wind. If they’re crooked, they’ll get caught.”

This moon is good for:

Writing spells, petitions, or personal promises

Speaking intentions out loud (just once and mean it)

Starting projects that involve teaching, storytelling, or social circles

Making peace or clearing up crossed wires with folks

Whispering something sacred to the wind and letting it carry it for you

Don’t be surprised if you get a burst of ideas or wake up talking to spirit in your dreams. Gemini moves quick—and this moon likes to get things in motion.

---------

♊ Gemini New Moon Idea:

Light a candle. Sit in stillness. Speak one sentence of truth or intention—just one—and whisper it to the wind. That’s it. No frills needed.

🌑 May this moon sharpen your mind, clear your tongue, and carry your will where it needs to go.

[dark-corner-cunning]

Blooming in the Dark: The Scorpio Flower Moon 🦂🌸🌕

Full Moon Blessings!

Out here in the shadowed folds of the Blue Ridge, where the honeysuckle climbs like old secrets and the whippoorwills cry through the dusk, the Full Flower Moon rises in the sign of Scorpio today at 12:56 PM EST—and with her comes a reckoning.

This ain’t no sweet-smelling, soft-hearted moon, despite her name. She blooms like bloodroot—pretty, yes, but poisonous too. This is the flower that grows from the grave, the bloom that cracks the stone. Scorpio, being ruled by Mars and Pluto, don’t mess around. It digs deep, strips bare, and calls back what's been buried.

---------------------------------------------------

🌕Appalachian Wisdom Beneath the Scorpio Moon

In these mountains, May’s full moon was sometimes called the Planting Moon, the Hare Moon, or even the Moon of Snake Stirring—when the ground warms just enough to rouse what’s been sleeping low. Folk say this is the time when poisons grow potent and healing roots take hold. You best know the difference—and sometimes, the cure is the poison.

Old timers watched their dreams close this time of year. The veil ain’t thin like Samhain, but it’s slick—like creekstone. And what comes through under a Scorpio moon might be kinfolk, or might be something else altogether. Either way, best to leave an offering and sweep your thresholds.

---------------------------------------------------

🦂 Astrological Insights

This Full Moon sits in Scorpio at 24°, opposite the Taurus Sun, lighting up the axis of life and death, roots and fruits, holding and letting go.

With Mars in Leo squaring this moon, and Pluto retrograde in Aquarius, old power dynamics may rear their heads—but now’s the time to reclaim what was stolen or silenced. This moon don’t ask permission; she pulls truth from bone.

Scorpio governs the 8th house—deep transformation, shared power, taboo, and magic. If you’ve been avoiding the shadow, this moon will call it forth. Let it come. Name it. Work with it. Power lies in the places you’re afraid to touch.

---------------------------------------------------

🐍 Reflection for this Full Moon

What part of you have you buried that now wants to bloom?

Let this moon teach you the wild blooming of the witch’s heart—the way it blossoms where most would break. In the old way, we don’t fear the sting of the Scorpio moon. We work with it. We let it strip us raw, so we can see what’s real.

And we remember: not all flowers grow toward the sun. Some bloom in the dark and carry their own damn light.

---------------------------------------------------

🦂Scorpion’s Kiss Charm - (for reclaiming power and hidden strength)

You’ll need:

A red chili pepper or flakes (dried) or a pinch of cayenne

A pinch of rosemary

A small red pouch or cloth

One small iron nail or tack

How to Make:

Combine all items in the pouch and tie it closed, saying:

“Fire and fang, I wear my sting— Let none forget what strength I bring.”

This charm can be carried or placed on your altar.

[dark-corner-cunning]

Bread from the Hollow: A Mountain Witch’s Sourdough Spell 🍞

Lately, I’ve been downright beside myself with everything sourdough—can’t get enough of it. My house has turned into a full-blown mountain bakery, with flour dusting every surface and loaves rising like quiet prayers in every warm corner. I’ve been handing out bread loaves like love notes, tucking warm rounds into the arms of folks I love, each one a blessing wrapped in brown paper and sealed with a "Made With Love" sticker. And like any true mountain witch, I’ve been folding my magic into the dough—sealing every loaf with workings of Nourishment, Prosperity, and Protection.

In the old mountain ways, the hearth was the heart of the home—and the kitchen, a place where magic and meal danced together in the same pot. The Granny witches of these hills knew food fed more than the belly—it fed the bones, the heart, the soul. Prayers were pinched into biscuits, healing stirred slow into stews, and intention rose right alongside the dough.

Bread, most of all, held a certain power. Sacred and sustaining, it carried the alchemy of time, patience, and hands that know. It brings to mind that line from the movie Red Riding Hood (2016), when the old grandmother says, “All sorrows are lessened with bread.” Ain’t that the truth? There’s something in a loaf—humble and golden—that soothes grief, mends tired hearts, and reminds us we still belong to something warm and good.

The rise of the dough ain’t just science—it’s a slow kind of resurrection. A fermentation of hope.

So, this here is my sourdough bread spell—born of love, flour, and fire. It calls on the element of Earth to ground, the element of Fire to transform, and the living, breathing spirit of fermentation to wake what’s been lying dormant. Like any true cunning magic, it’s both spell and sustenance, meant to bless the body and charm the soul.

May your hands stay warm, your belly stay full, and your spirit never go without.

---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------

Sourdough Spell for Nourishment, Prosperity, and Protection

(For one loaf)

🌾 Magical Ingredients & Their Witchery

Sourdough Starter – Your living familiar. A spirit in a jar. Represents legacy, renewal, and transformation. Carries your energy over time. Feed it like kin.

Flour – The body of the spell. Represents abundance, stability, and foundation. Choose with care. Wheat flour ties to old harvest rites.

Water – The connector. Binds and activates. Use clean or blessed water. Represents intuition, flow, and emotional nourishment.

Salt – The protector. Banishes unwanted energies and holds the spirit of the bread intact. Represents boundaries, purification, and grounding.

Time (fermentation) – The unseen worker. Represents patience, transformation, and the will to become.

Fire (baking) – The final spellwork. Transforms potential into being. Represents will, passion, and manifestation.

Sourdough Recipe:

120 grams sourdough starter

400 grams of flour

250 grams of warm water

9 grams of salt

---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------

Working The Spell

1. Morning Intention

Before you begin, light a candle near your prep space. Wash your hands in cool water with a pinch of salt to clear your energy. Speak aloud:

"As I mix, I mend. As I knead, I weave. As I bake, I bless."

2. Mixing the Dough

Combine your starter, flour, water, and salt in a large bowl. As you stir, chant softly or silently:

"Flour and water, womb of stone,

Feed the spirit, flesh, and bone.

Salt to shield, and time to bless—

May all I need come to possess."

Focus on your intention: Are you baking for strength? For protection? For steady income? Pour that into your hands as you knead.

3. Folding & Fermenting

Every time you fold your dough, whisper a small charm. You might say:

"Rise with power, rise with grace,

Bless this home, this heart, this place."

Cover the dough and leave it to rest. Let the spirit of fermentation do its quiet magic... I do let my loaves ferment overnight in the fridge.

---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------

✒️ Scoring the Sigil

When your dough is ready for baking, dust the top with flour and score it with a blade. This is where you carve your sigil of intent—it can be a simple crossroads ( + ) for protection, a rune for wealth, or your own mark created for this working.

As you score, say:

"By cut and curve, I shape this spell—

Let all be done, and all be well."

I chose a crossroads symbol for protection.

---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------

🔥 Baking the Bread

Slide your loaf into the hot oven. As it bakes, sit with the scent. Visualize your intent rising and solidifying in the world. Let it fill your space with warmth and quiet power.

When the loaf is done and cooled, hold it in your hands. Say:

"From flame and flour, crust and crumb,

The spell is sealed. So, mote it becomes."

Wrap it up and then share it—or savor it—as an act of sacred nourishment.

---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------🍞---------

When you pull that golden loaf from the oven, know this, darlin’—you’ve stirred up a quiet kind of wonder. You’ve fed more than just belly-hunger; you’ve nourished spirit and home, weaving care into every crumb and tucking a bit of spellcraft into the crust. This one’s for you, reader—a gift from my hearth to yours, baked up with magic and love. May each slice bring you comfort and blessing, and may your hearth never be without warmth, wonder, or witchery.

[dark-corner-cunning]

Dark Corner Cunning Folk Wisdom

Pluto Retrograde, May 4 to October 12, 2025

Whispered beneath root and stone…

Well now, the earth's belly has turned, and Pluto’s gone retrograde—draggin’ its shadowed tail backward through the underworld skies. This ain’t a time for surface dealings. This is grave-diggin’ season. A time to get down in the dark clay of your soul and ask what’s been buried too long. Secrets stir. Old bones rattle. And the spirits that keep watch over transformation are wide awake.

Pluto don’t ask nicely. It strips. It breaks. And then it remakes. You may feel the pull to shed skins, end soul-contracts, or exhume long-dead truths. Don’t flinch. In our ways, rot ain’t ruin—it’s medicine. It's compost for power.

Today, sit with what’s been festering. Light a black candle. Burn something bitter. Speak to your own shadow like you would to a kinfolk ghost—firm, but respectful. Ask it what it wants. Ask it what it fears. Then listen. There's gold in that grave dirt, but only for the one who digs.

The wise know: the darker the descent, the deeper the root.

[dark-corner-cunning]

🔮 Dark Corner Cunning Folk Wisdom 🌾

May 1st — Beltane Tide

“Where the dew gathers, so does the blessing.”

At the turning of May, the veil thins not just for spirits, but for the flowering of power. Rise early this morning and step barefoot into the grass. Let the dew kiss your skin—it’s an old charm for beauty, luck, and vitality.

Tomorrow calls for boldness rooted in tenderness. Light a flame, braid a green ribbon, speak sweet to the land. The fire and the flower are kin today.

Tend your desire like it’s holy. Because it is.

—From the ridge to the root, Dark Corner Cunning

[dark-corner-cunning]

Substack Share

Sending my words out into the internet ether and giving Substack a go. If you're over there and feel called, give me a follow. I’ll be sharing some daily Appalachian folk wisdom and other musings—Substack’s a bit more user-friendly for that kind of slow, soul-rooted posting.

[dark-corner-cunning]

🌸🌿 Spring Gatherings: 5 Plants I Forage Every Spring for My Craft 🌿🌸

I’m mostly putting this together as a page for my grimoire, but I thought I’d share it here too—for those who may be walking the green magic way, and who find meaning in the turning of the land. Every spring, like clockwork, I head into the woods, fields, and forgotten hollers to gather what only blooms for a breath. These 5 plants are part of my yearly rhythm—not just for their beauty, but because they carry power that’s season-born, fleeting, and full of spirit.

There’s a kind of sacred urgency to foraging in spring. The old folks say that anything that blooms early blooms for a reason—and if you know how to work with it, you can catch the spell it brings before the wind carries it off.

Here are the 5 spring plants I never miss:

🍒 Japanese Cherry Blossoms (Prunus serrulata)

Folklore & Folk Magic: While native wild cherries were well-known in the mountains, Japanese cherry blossoms came later, often planted in town squares, graveyards, and special gardens. Folk soon spun their own meanings around them. It was said that a vow spoken under the soft rain of Japanese cherry blossoms would be bound not once, but thrice—by land, by spirit, and by the unseen hand of fate.

Magical Properties: ✨ Beauty, renewal, sweetness in love, drawing good fortune, binding promises. ✨ Carrying dried Japanese cherry blossoms was believed to enhance inner and outer beauty and open one’s spirit to new beginnings.

Omen: A sudden scattering of Japanese cherry petals on the wind foretold swift changes ahead—often unexpected visitors, news, or life shifts.

-------------------------

🌿 Wisteria (Wisteria spp.)

Folklore & Folk Magic: Wisteria creeping over old homesteads was called a memory vine—keeping the spirit of a place alive even after folks had moved on. Its vines were strong, and folk believed they could bind both blessings and burdens if not carefully tended.

Magical Properties: ✨ Psychic opening, prosperity, overcoming obstacles, dream work. ✨ Wisteria vines were braided or knotted for binding spells, either to secure love or to hold a blessing in place.

Omen: Heavy blooms on abandoned land spoke of spirits longing for remembrance; tangled, choked growth warned of forgotten promises weighing heavy.

-------------------------

✝️ Dogwood Flowers (Cornus florida)

Folklore & Folk Magic: The dogwood is holy wood to Appalachian folk. Christian lore wove through it heavily—saying it was once a mighty tree used to craft the Cross, and as punishment for that, was cursed to grow small and twisted, with flowers bearing the shape of a cross and blood at the tips. Despite the heavy Christian ties, witches knew the dogwood was protective. Branches were hung over doorways to keep out harmful spirits or laid above cradles to guard infants.

Magical Properties: ✨ Wishes, protection, health, wisdom. ✨ Blossoms were pressed between Bible pages or tucked into hearth stones to grant heartfelt wishes or to bless a newborn with health.

Omen: An early blooming dogwood was an omen of change or early death; a late blooming, a sign of long life and fruitful season.

-------------------------

🍯 Honeysuckle (Lonicera spp.)

Folklore & Folk Magic: Honeysuckle twining around the door was a sign that luck and love would stay rooted there. Children were taught to sip the nectar for sweet luck, and witches knew its flowers and vines carried potent persuasive magic to sweeten the tongue.

Magical Properties: ✨ Money, success, abundance, persuasion, heightened psychic ability. ✨ Honeysuckle flowers could be rubbed across the forehead to sharpen psychic senses before divination. ✨ Vines were braided for binding charms—to hold prosperity close or seal deals.

Omen: Honeysuckle taking over too fiercely warned of jealousy or greed creeping into the home.

-------------------------

🌸Azalea Flowers (Rhododendron spp.)

Azaleas are kin to rhododendrons, which grow thick and wild in the high mountains. The old folks respected them greatly—and feared them some, too. Azalea was called "bewitching wood" because its beauty hides poison; parts of the plant are toxic if mishandled.

Magical Properties: ✨ Happiness, joy, hidden strength, glamour. ✨ A single azalea bloom placed on the altar was said to draw joy into the home and shield workings from prying eyes.

Omen: A bright azalea flourishing in tough soil foretold unexpected blessings and resilience, while a sudden wilting warned of a hidden threat nearby.

-------------------------

🌸 Each of these plants is sacred in its own way—and each one comes when the land is just waking up from winter’s spell. That’s part of their power. They’re quick to bloom, quick to pass, and not always easy to find… but that’s why I make the time to forage them each spring. Their season is short, and their magic is strongest when it's fresh.

Feel free to make your own page in your book, if these spirits speak to you too. And if you walk the woods this season, walk with care—listen closely and be conscious about what and how much you are foraging.

[dark-corner-cunning]

🌑 New Moon in Taurus – Grounding, Growing, and Building What Lasts 🌑

New Moon Blessings!

This New Moon in Taurus brings a welcome shift into steadiness. Taurus is the sign of the builder, the gardener, the one who knows that good things take time. This moon invites us to slow down, reconnect with our values, and start planting the seeds—literally and metaphorically—for what we want to grow over time.

This moon falls at 7° Taurus, and it’s sitting close to the North Node, pointing us toward long-term growth and a deeper sense of purpose. There’s also a supportive connection to Saturn in Pisces, helping us give structure to dreams and spiritual goals. If you’ve been hoping to ground your ideas into reality or bring more stability to your life, this is the moon to begin.

🪵 Taurus New Moon Themes:

Long-term intentions and goals

Financial stability and slow, sustainable growth

Body care, home care, and self-worth

Connecting with nature and the land

Building routines that actually feel good

---------

🌿 Folk Magic & Appalachian Wisdom

In traditional folk practices—especially those passed down in the Appalachian region—the dark moon in an Earth sign like Taurus is considered a strong time for planting, blessing, and working toward prosperity. This isn’t about quick fixes; it’s about setting intentions that you’re willing to tend and care for, like a garden.

Ways you can work with this moon:

Plant something in the earth with a spoken intention.

Make or refresh charms for steady income and resource flow.

Work with oils or candle spells focused on abundance or security.

Whisper your goals into a jar of dirt from your home and bury it beneath a favorite tree or near your front steps.

Here’s a simple folk charm you can try:

Steady Hand, Full Pocket Charm Gather:

A small square of green fabric

A coin rubbed with money drawing oil (optional)

A pinch of dried basil or bay leaf

A string or thread

A taglock from you

A petition (optional)

Wrap the herbs and coin in the cloth and tie it shut with the string. As you tie it, say:

“Steady hand and steady heart, Let blessings grow and never part. By leaf and coin, by root and thread, Bring me fortune, daily bread.”

Keep it in your pocket, purse, or on your altar until the Full Moon in Taurus later this year.

---------

🌱 Reflection Questions for the Taurus New Moon:

What am I ready to build or invest in long-term?

Where do I need more grounding in my life?

How do I define security—and what steps can I take to create it?

What routines or rituals help me feel stable and supported?

This moon is about choosing what’s real, what’s worthy, and what’s worth the effort. It’s a beautiful time to begin a new chapter in your relationship with money, your body, your home, or your purpose.

May this moon bless the roots you plant and bring you the steadiness you seek.

[dark-corner-cunning]

🌕The Full Pink Moon in Libra: The Balancing Moon 🌕

Full Pink Moon Blessings!

As the hills of the Dark Corner stir with the rising warmth of spring, the Full Pink Moon casts her glow upon the land. This moon, so named for the moss phlox that carpets the Appalachian valleys and ridges in shades of soft pink, heralds the true arrival of the season’s fertility. In the old ways of the mountain folk, the Pink Moon is a time of renewal, love, and setting right the balance between ourselves and the land.

In the night’s hush, the spirits of the woods and hollers move differently, as the shifting season calls forth growth, both seen and unseen. This is a moon of beauty, but also one of power—the quiet yet undeniable force of harmony reasserting itself after the harshness of winter.

------

The Full Pink Moon in Appalachian Folk Tradition

In the traditions of Appalachian folk wisdom, the Pink Moon is a moon of awakening. It marks the time when the land’s vitality surges, waking the roots and calling forth the blossoms. Among the mountain cunning folk, this moon was a time for purification, love workings, and making peace—whether with the spirits of the land, one’s kin, or oneself.

Spring planting is well underway, and as new life takes hold in the soil, so too must balance be found within our own lives. This is a time to clear away lingering conflicts, mend broken ties, and ensure that what we nurture—whether in the garden or within ourselves—has strong and healthy roots.

------

Astrology of the Full Pink Moon in Libra

Astrologically, the Full Moon in Libra shines its silver light on relationships, justice, and equilibrium. Libra, ruled by Venus, is the sign of harmony, beauty, and fairness. This moon illuminates where imbalance exists—whether in love, friendships, or within our own spirits. Libra calls us to restore right relationship, both in the mundane and the magical realms.

But under this moon, the scales are not just for weighing what is fair, but also for measuring truth. This is a time when hidden tensions rise to the surface, requiring clarity and decisive action. Full moons always bring revelations, and in Libra, they ask us to see the reflections in our relationships—what we give, what we take, and where we must realign for our own well-being.

With the sun in Aries opposing this moon, there is a tension between the self (Aries) and the other (Libra). Do we stand firm in our desires, or do we compromise for the sake of peace? Do we honor our own needs, or do we give too much? These are the questions this moon brings to our feet like offerings on the altar.

------

5 Ideas for the Full Pink Moon in Libra

A Mirror Spell for Clarity in Relationships – Take a small hand mirror and cleanse it under moonlight. Speak to it as though you are speaking to your own reflection, asking the moon to show you what is hidden in your relationships. Use this moment to scry, journal, or simply reflect on what surfaces.

A Balance Rite with Land Spirits – Stand in a natural place, barefoot if possible. Hold two small stones in your hands—one representing what you give, the other what you receive. Whisper to them your intentions for balance and fairness, then place them back upon the land.

A Pink Moon Beauty & Attraction Ritual – As Libra is ruled by Venus, this is a powerful moon for beauty spells. Create an enchanted bath with rose petals, lavender, jasmine, and pink salt... or with whatever calls to you. As you bathe, visualize washing away self-doubt and stepping into your own power and charm.

Binding & Unbinding Work – Libra’s energy can be used both to forge bonds and to release them.

A Hearth & Home Blessing – The Pink Moon is a time of unity and peace. This full moon is a great time to invite harmony and loving energy into your home.

------

2 Reflection Questions for the Full Pink Moon in Libra

Where in my life do I need to restore balance, and what steps can I take to realign with my true path?

In what ways do I give and receive in my relationships, and how can I ensure fairness in my exchanges?

As the Full Pink Moon rises over the mountains, casting her soft glow over the hollows and hills, may we find harmony in her light. Let her show us what must be restored, what must be released, and what must be cherished as we walk the Cunning Path.

[dark-corner-cunning]

🌑 New Moon in Aries & Solar Eclipse – The Fire Behind the Veil 🔥

At 6:47 AM EST tomorrow, the moon will slip between the earth and the sun, casting a shadow over the light and stirring the unseen forces of fate—a partial solar eclipse in Aries.

The old mountain folks spoke of eclipses with reverence and wariness. They saw them as omens, moments when the usual order of things unraveled, and spirits moved restless through the land. In the hollers and hills, folks stayed inside, whispering prayers, warning against looking at the sky lest it steal more than just sight—lest it pull away the veil and shows things best left unseen.

But for those of us who walk the magical and cunning paths, we know that fear is a tool, and power is what we make of it.

--------

An Aries Eclipse: The Reckoning of Will

Aries, ruled by Mars, is the force of the warrior, the pioneer, the one who steps forward when others hesitate. When the moon darkens the sun, Aries’ usual outward fire turns inward, forcing us to face our own desires, instincts, and battle scars.

At 9° Aries, this eclipse demands action—it calls for the breaking of old chains and the forging of new paths. Are you holding yourself back? Have you swallowed doubt, fear, or the superstitions of others? Aries does not ask for permission. Aries does not wait.

This is not a moon for simple wish-making. This is a power moon, an action moon, a moment of raw, untamed magic.

Let go of hesitation. Step forward. How do you know what you're capable of if you never try?

--------

2 Ritual Ideas for the Aries Solar Eclipse

🔥 1. The Black Flame Rite (Claiming Power & Burning Away Doubt)

This eclipse is an initiation, a fire-lit threshold between the old and the new. This rite is for those ready to release what holds them back and step fully into their power.

You will need:

A single flame (a candle, oil lamp, or even a torch if you work outdoors)

Ritual:

Stand before the flame, steady and unshaken. Let the fire be your witness.

Speak aloud what you are releasing—fear, false masks, stagnation, anything that binds you.

Draw the flame toward your heart. Whisper your intent to it, feeding the fire with your will.

When ready, snuff the flame between your fingers or blow it out—sealing the working and stepping into your power.

🗡️ 2. Fire & Iron: The Blade Blessing

Aries rules weapons, iron, and the warrior’s path. If you work with a knife, athame, or simple iron blade, this eclipse is a potent time to consecrate it in the name of your will and protection.

You will need:

A blade of your choosing (knife, iron nail, dagger, etc.)

A flame (candle or fire)

Ritual:

Hold your blade to the sky at the moment of the eclipse, letting it drink in the charged darkness.

Pass the blade through flame, saying: “By fire and iron, by light and shadow, I walk unafraid. This blade is an extension of my will. Let no force stand in my way.”

Wrap it in cloth or place it on your altar, marking it as a sacred tool of protection and strength.

--------

Some Cunning Words

The land stirs beneath an eclipse. The old forces move. Some spirits walk unseen, some wait at the crossroads, and some call to those who dare listen. If you feel called to work magic, then work it. If you feel called to watch and listen, then do so with eyes wide open.

Let no outside voice tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. This is your fire, your will, your path. Step into it.

The eclipse is coming. The veil is shifting. What will you do with it?

[dark-corner-cunning]

The Legend of Old Mother Red-Cap and the Serpent’s Fire: A Mountain Witch’s Spring Equinox Folktale

In honor of the return of spring, I’ve chosen to take a more creative path, weaving together folktales inspired by my journey of cunning and the land of the Appalachian Mountains I call home. This tale draws from the spirit of Old Mother Red Cap, who summons the red serpent to awaken the land and bring forth spring's renewal. Every day, new traditions and stories are born—so why not create your own? Dare to craft your own folklore and rituals, for who knows? Your creations may be the ones that echo through generations to come.

-------------

In the mountains, where the winds weave through the trees and the stones hold memories of the past, there’s an ancient tale passed down in whispers, told in the quiet hours before the Spring Equinox. It speaks of Old Mother Red-Cap, the keeper of the first spark, and the Red Serpent who coils deep beneath the earth, the very fire that stirs the world into life.

Long ago, when winter had wrapped its cold fingers too tightly around the land, the rivers slowed to a crawl, and the trees slumbered so deep they forgot how to wake. The people felt the heaviness of the stillness, and they knew the sun’s warmth would not return unless they called for help. Old Mother Black-Cap had clutched the land too fiercely, her frost-bound grip lingering beyond its time, and the people suffered in the endless chill. Their fields lay barren, their animals weak, and their spirits dimmed like smothered embers.

So, they gathered in the first light of dawn, before the sun had fully risen on the day of the Equinox. They walked the land, their voices rising in unison, calling to Old Mother Red-Cap, the fiery spirit of Spring, to awaken and renew the earth.

"Red-Cap, Red-Cap, light the way, Bring the flame to stir the day."

They chanted, their words carried on the cold wind, winding through the valleys and over the ridges, reaching the heart of the mountain where fire sleeps.

From the depths of the earth, she came—Old Mother Red-Cap, wrapped in her cloak of crimson flame, with a lantern glowing bright like the first light of dawn. Her boots struck sparks upon the frozen ground as she walked, and with every step, the earth beneath her feet began to stir. She raised her lantern high, and from the flame, she summoned the Red Serpent, its glowing body uncoiling from the depths, ancient and wise.

"Wake up, old thing," she called to the Serpent, her voice crackling like the fire itself. "There’s work to do."

With a great hiss, the Red Serpent stretched and yawned, its fiery breath sending warmth through the frozen soil. As the serpent rose, the earth shuddered, and the ice cracked wide open, the land waking with the heat of transformation. Old Mother Black-Cap shrieked as the fire crept into the hollows where she hid, her frost retreating, her icy veil lifting from the mountains. She fled, her dark cape trailing winter’s last breath, slipping into the shadows where cold must rest until its time returns.

Old Mother Red-Cap plucked an ember from her lantern and pressed it to the Serpent’s forehead. The flame sank into its flesh, and the Serpent’s eyes blazed with new life. With each beat of its fiery heart, the land came back to life. Roots stretched and drank of the warmth, buds burst open in a fever of green, and the rivers, once sluggish and still, roared with the power of renewal. The people felt it too—the fire waking in their bones, the hunger to move, to grow, to become.

Old Mother Red-Cap looked upon the people of the land, her eyes gleaming with pride. "You have called forth the fire, not with fear, but with the strength of your own spirit. You stood firm in your power, your voices rising like embers in the wind, unyielding in the face of the cold. It is your own inner flame that has driven back the darkness, for true power lies in those who dare to wield it with purpose. Stand strong in your fire, let it burn bright, and know that you have the strength to shape the world around you. You are the keepers of the flame, the bearers of transformation, and in your hands, the land will always wake anew."

When Old Mother Red-Cap felt her work was done, she climbed to the mountain’s peak, standing tall against the dawn. She faced the Eastern Road, where the first light of the rising sun painted the sky in hues of fire, and she knew—Spring was born.

To this day, when the Spring Equinox arrives, the wise ones walk the land, calling upon the fire in the earth and in themselves. They gather the power of the stones, the streams, and the rising sun, lighting their candles and whispering their spells. And when they do, they know that Old Mother Red-Cap still walks among them, stirring the fire of transformation in all who dare to claim it.

[dark-corner-cunning]

🔥The Quickening Flame: A Cunning Celebration of the Spring Equinox🔥

Spring Equinox Blessings!

The Equinox dawns, and the Eastern Road flares open. The first light cuts through the pines, spilling like fire over the ridges and hollows. The hills breathe, the creeks sing, and the land shudders awake. Day and night stand in fleeting balance, but the dark begins to slip—pulled back by the rising heat of the sun, by the stirring of old things beneath root and stone. The astrological new year begins as Aries, bold and burning, takes its first breath.

This is the road of the Red Serpent, the Fire that sleeps in the belly of the land. It coils in the iron-rich clay, in the veins of quartz that cut through the mountains, in the hidden caves and still places where few dare to tread. The Serpent stirs now, winding up from the gut of the hills, from the bones of the land, from the places where fire has long been buried. Those who walk the Cunning Path know—this is not a gentle turning of the wheel. This is ignition.

Old Mother Red-Cap walks these hills, lantern swinging, her fire burning bright against the shadows. She does not wait. She does not ask. She strikes the spark, watches it catch, and lets it burn away. She is the whisper in the fire, the heat in your blood, the lesson learned through trial and iron will. She calls the Cunning Ones to rise with the dawn, to claim their own fire, to walk forward with purpose.

On this day, we wake. We stand in the growing light, knowing that fire is not only warmth, but trial, but change, but power. The land crackles awake with strength.

-----------

🔥Ideas for The Spring Equinox:🔥

🔥 Candle & Flame Rites – Burn a candle. Speak your will into the flame. 🔥 Serpent’s Path Walking – Walk the land, through the woods, along the creeks, or across the old roads. Stir the Red Serpent. Feel it beneath your feet, let it rise in your blood. 🔥 Gathering the Land’s Awakening Power – Sit where the sun's light touches—in the grass, at the bend of the river, where the wind speaks low through the trees. Breathe it in. Let it quicken you. 🔥 Protection & Purification – Burn cleansing & protection herbs—pine, cedar, rosemary, or dragon's blood—to cleanse and fortify your home and self. Walk your land, lay down wards, set the boundaries strong. 🔥 Forge & Feast – Make snacks, drink some tea, and eat with intent. Let the land’s fire fill your bones.

“To the Red Spirits of the East, Keepers of the Fire, and the Red Serpent’s Cunning and Will. Hear our Call, Awaken, and Arise.” 🔥🐍🌄

----------

Related Reads: Explore More to This Season

The Red Serpent: Embracing The Power of The Land

Communing With Fire & Eastern Road: "Fire on the Mountain Protection Oil

The Enduring Power of the Oil Lamp