Breathe. Feel the air in your lungs. Feel the feathers under your skin. You are star-dust and cosmic grit. Inhale. Exhale.

You are the wind in the lungs of young lovers. You are the dirt through which green things grow. You are the sounds of a thousand crickets chirping in the darkness. Inhale. Exhale.

This is magick, witchling. Inhale. Breathe in the pattern of a thousand knitted hats. Breathe out the pain of a thousand embroidery needle pokes. This is magick, this is Craft. This is the art passed from a thousand witches to a thousand children.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the sunlight on your burned skin. Feel the rain drip on sodden hope. There is kindness here. There is pain. There is balance. There is focus.

There is me, and there is you. Inhale. Exhale.

The softness of a wolf’s fur. The gaze of a gecko’s eye. The sound of a heart ceasing to beat. This is magick. This is you.

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