Solitary but Not Alone:: Last night I dreamed of a witch house. The woman who lived there gathered herbs and bark, nestled in the ancient walls were jars and talismans. Her gardens grew wild round the house, which sat on a hill overlooking both forest and sea. "You can build your home there," she said, pointing to the east ridge. We watched the fog come in, embracing a waning crescent moon, and I saw my cabin, built of fresh gold wood and shingled strong, just a few yards away from hers. I thought how good it would be to share the magic of this life with a kindred: the planting, harvest, preparation, compost, the circles of the holy days, the spiral of the year. In that cabin I would write and draw. She looked at the moon smiling and we spoke the words together: Solitary but not alone. :: I woke with a joy ache in my heart and the words echoing through. Here we are, witches, eclectics, uncertains loving this earth, dancing the cycle. In my dreams we build our houses on the ridge and listen with the land. In this day, you are included, invited, to live connected. Solitary we may be, but not alone. This life is shared and our magic is the sharing, bringing us ever back to home. ::