Magicienne

Your footfalls silenced by the soft forest floor, you move towards the meeting place where you never meet.  Closer still, greeted only by silence and a heavy wooden door.

Shelves of wood carved from knowing trees, lined with bottles and vials, potions and elixirs. Reminders that deep work is done here - transformations, macerations, alchemy.  That work is not your mystery to hold, it belongs to another, the one from the north who works in the shadows. 

The forest surrounds, grown so tall that daylight is subtle and soft, and the dark is never far. 

In this place,  past, present, and future are now.  

In this place, you are the night sky.  

Moon held softly in your hands, you whisper into the wind.  The wind that knows that past, present and future are now. 

It is to that wind that you make your offerings, that is the mystery you hold.  Discernment, knowing which spell to take off the shelf and speak into the wind. Faith, believing it will be heard and received.  

One more offering as you leave this place, a gift to the keeper of this space, honoring the devotion to her craft.   You walk away, honoring your devotion to your own.