A Magickal Journey Through the Holiday Season
- Daniela Sales
- Nov 29, 2025
- 86 min read
Updated: Jan 7
Where Fiber Threads Meet Fairy Tales - A Living Blog
Day 1 - November 30th : The Door of in-Between
In the hush before December, when the world holds its breath, there is said to be a door that only opens for those who are still enough to see it. It stands between tree branches leaning in to whisper secrets of the forest realm. If you step through this secret door of in-between, you enter the realm where winter stories are born, the place where the first snowflake is dreamt before it ever falls.
Story: The Door of in-Between (click to read)
There is a day in the turning of the year when time begins to melt away. The clocks still tick as if nothing extraordinary is happening, but if you step outside, you can feel it in the air, a kind of pause as if the whole of the world is between breaths.
On that day, the story says, a magical door appears.
It never shows up in the same place twice. One year it may stand at the far edge of a field, just where the frost-tipped grass gives way to woods. Another year it leans, almost shyly, between two city trees whose roots are secretly holding hands beneath the pavement. The door is always simple, easy to overlook, yet it glows with the foreverness of stories older than old.
Most people walk by without seeing it. Their thoughts are busy with lists: gifts to buy, bills to pay, meals to plan, situations to solve. But every year, there are those who feel its presence, whose heart is still open to wonder … perhaps a child, perhaps a loving mother, perhaps an elder carrying memories that are becoming heart’s wisdom… every year, there are those who pause at just the right moment and notice that the space between the two trees, or the shimmering glow at the edge of the garden. They feel a tug and hear its song.
Some simply smile and keep walking, comforted by their knowing that the world is still larger and more magickal than any one list of things to do. Others will step closer, lean in, listen. And then there are a few who will step through.
If you’re very quiet inside, you can see the door of in-between and its glowing symbols decorating the edges with shapes of leaves, needles, stars, spirals, little twists of thread...
If you lay your palm on the door, its winter warmth made of stories told by ancient fires will invite you in. When you lean in with your ear against it, you might hear the sound of pages turning, of knitting needles tapping softly, a soup simmering, a candle burning, a whisper of a story calling.
If you turn the handle and step through, you don’t disappear from this world. You simply begin to notice that every ordinary day has a hidden dimension where all is possible, and magic is always alive.
If you step through, you find yourself there … the place beyond time and space where snowflakes are born; where stories of the coming days are still coming into being; where the New Year itself is sitting at a loom, waiting to see which colors you will choose for the tapestry of the next year’s journey around the sun.
You may step back again, let the door fade, and go on with your errands… or… you may whisper, “I am here. I see you.” The door of in-between does not demand you walk through every day or that you stay on one side always. Yet, when you open it and allow it to be a part of your world, it will gift you with many adventures that fill the heart with wonder.
From the moment you open the door of in-between, a part of you will remember that you have found it and can return whenever you feel that your world needs a reminder that joy, love, and magic are real and can make dreams come true.
As we start our journey, we find ourselves on the threshold. It is not yet winter, not quite the year’s end. The time feels just right for intentions to simmer and carefully form, especially those that prefer to slip in quietly rather than trumpet their arrival.
A look around my home today brings my attention to a kitchen corner where a dear house spirit left a message and a reminder to gift the old jars sitting there, to someone whose table will be blessed by their addition ... to allow the gratitude for always having plenty to gift and share be the beginning of my magical winter journey this year.
I pull out the old jars and realize they are not very old at all; they have just been overlooked, and I thank the house spirit for the reminder that blessings overlooked become shadows or even burdens but can transform into endless joys and multiply when gifted and shared. I find the most beautiful ribbon and tie it around the jars to make their arrival into the recipient's hands one of joy and beauty. I feel a blessing song whisper through, and I write it on a little piece of paper that I tuck in under the ribbon. The gift of being blessed to have plenty to gift and share is on its way to make someone smile.
The Blessing for the Start of the Journey
Click here to read the blessing verses
May the space of in-between this season open just for you its door
As the old year loosens from your shoulders,
And the new year begins to weave its threads ever more.
May one clear corner in your home become a temple bright,
Glowing warmly, soft and true,
As you notice, secret places where new beginnings light the night.
May gentle unseen guardians stand watch at your gate
Guarding every step across the threshold
As you walk into this winter, knowing you are held by the promise of good fate.
Day 2 - December 1st: The First Winter Candle
Long ago, before the arrival of winter was counted in numbers and little squares on personal calendars, the warm glow of candle flames flickered in rooms and windows, marking the approach of Grandmother Winter. As nights grew noticeably cold and began to lengthen, the first winter candles were lit, and children heard stories of the First Candle flame stretching tall to keep the inner warmth shining bright through the cold winter night in expectation of the returning sun.
Click here to read the full Story of the First Winter Candle
Before there were numbered clocks, calendars, and digital reminders, the year was tracked and counted not in communication with the light. Summer’s light brightened the fields washed in gold that spread into long walks and chats as evenings refuse to end. Autumn slowly began to pull the hours of sunlight away, withdrawing gently, like a dear guest who keeps pausing in the doorway to say one more thing.
By the time early winter arrived, the light that once covered everything gathered itself into small, intimate forms. A slant of sun across a table. A narrow river of brightness on the floor. The warm orange of embers in a fireplace. A chill in the evening that arrived earlier and earlier.
In a kingdom behind seven mountains and across seven blue seas, a tradition of light and the first winter candle was born.
It was not written in a strict rulebook. It started gently but brightly, and from day to day, from heart to heart, it spread its warmth in a quietly enchanting way. On the first night when everyone felt, “Ah, the dark winter night is here to stay for a while,” someone would bring out a single candle and announce, a little ceremonially and a little playfully, “We light this year the first winter candle to keep the light and warmth bright in our heart.”
The children would gather close. Was it a special candle? Some years, yes: a beeswax taper saved for the occasion, smelling faintly of summer fields. Some years, it was just the nicest one in the drawer, or the only one found in the cabinet that day. What made it “First” was not its perfection, but its glow imbued with gratitude for the harvest that was ending and the health and strength to weather the winter as the wheel of the year turned once again.
The teaching of the First Winter Candle was not “this is all you’ll have,” or “you must be satisfied with little,” but instead, its glow reminded and taught all who were read to listen how important it is to notice how much goodness and warmth can be brought into the world when even a small tiny light is honored and shared with the world. It invited all who were near to notice how shadows rearrange themselves around its flickering light; how the eyes relax as minds calm and hearts remember.
In the soft glow, you could see details that harsh light erases: the lines at the corners of beloved eyes, the dancing shadows of evergreen branches in a vase, the way wool yarn caught and held the flicker.
Some families made wishes and shared blessings on the First Winter Candle. Some murmured prayers in languages older than their names. Some simply sat quietly, letting the presence of that one flame reach frozen spaces within. In its circle of warmth, all remembered that light does not stop existing just because the sun turns its attention in a different direction for a little while. It changes form. It becomes something inviting us to participate.
And every year, without fail, someone would bring out the First Winter Candle for the year and say, “It feels like winter now.”
Not because it was cold, or because the date demanded it, but because the First Winter Candle was ready to be lit. From that moment on, as the candle shone into the night, the darkness outside was no longer cold emptiness. It was a vast, listening space into which songs, stories, and enchanting stitches, and even a spell or two could be cast.
The First Winter Candle did not promise that the coming winter weeks would be easy. It promised that you will have a light in your heart to guide the way through.
This is the day of kindling. Even the smallest spark becomes a promise.
Place one candle in a spot you pass often. Each time you see it, imagine it lighting an inner doorway.
Winter Nights Basket - Supply Gathering Begins
It is time to start a small basket labeled Winter Nights Basket. Over this and maybe even next week, we'll slowly gather:
Red, gold, green (and other colors calling your attention) strands of ribbon, yarn or thread
A few cinnamon sticks
Whole star anise pieces
Small pinecones
A piece of evergreen branch (or a few)
A few candles (any size, tiny or long) in colors that call your name (gold, green, white, red, silver ...)
A small log or a short piece of a thick branch (for the future Yule log)
Do not overthink this basket gathering. Open your heart to allow the tiny blessings to come to you on your daily walks as gifts of the earth and the wind ... allow them to find you from forgotten project baskets ... as gifts from friends ... a special tiny finds at a local market ... Just begin. The little reminders will find you as we move through the week.
A Blessing for Your Basket Gatherings (click here to read)
May the first small candle flame turn your heart toward hope once more
Let its light uncover dusty corners long ignored
And guide your wandering feet to a warmer, calmer shore.
May your Winter Nights basket fill itself with gifts you’ll find
Spices, cones, and quiet twigs that answer every need
Each one by your dreams, brightly underlined.
Day 3 - December 2nd: My Dreams Are Finding Me
In misty mountain villages of far away and long ago, stories whisper of an old winter witch who travels on the wings of first snowflakes, carrying dreams in her woolen shawl. She shakes its fringes as she flies over house roofs, scattering inspiration, dreams ready to come true, children’s joys, parents’ blessings, seekers’ adventure calls waiting to be answered. … she never forces a dream on anyone. She only offers a sprinkle of wonder on the wings of glittering snowflakes...
Story: Good Winter Witch Who Carries Dreams (click to read the full story)
Long before people gave names to diagnoses and burnout, they would whisper to their closest friends: “I feel that the soul is tired.” When that happened in the summer, the remedy was found in revelry of playtimes at the beach, on a river, in the early morning sun, enveloped by the scent of fresh peaches, bare feet on the sand... but winter tiredness felt different. It was not always the blue color of sadness. At times, it could feel like a grey fog clinging to the edges of thoughts, nervous and anxious, less than settled.
So, in the kingdom behind seven mountains and across the seven seas, wisdom keepers spoke to young and old alike of the Good Winter Witch.
She wore a coat the color of winter sky, boots lined with soft, warm fur, and a large woolen shawl knitted with the most intricate lacy patterns that seemed to dance and change colors as she traveled above the roofs. Her hair was long and white, not with ice but with ancient wisdom that shone like spun glass, and her eyes held endless depths of inspiration in their blue-grey glimmer. Marvelously, if you knew the magic is well and alive in the world, you would see silvery snowflakes flutter on the surface of her woolen shawl, bubbling with anticipation, sprinkling down to window sills, chimneys, garden beds, and fireplaces.
“Those are dreams,” wisdom keepers said, “She keeps them for us when we are too busy to notice them or when we forget to take care of them and nourish them. She brings them back as gifts of the first snowflakes.”
The Good Winter Witch does not visit on a single fixed date. She arrives with the first snowflakes. Sometimes she arrives while people sleep, and sometimes she surprises them with the most glittering display of evening snow blankets or icy writing on the window panes. She moves through streets and forests, her boots leave no prints, her flights leave no trace and make no sound. At each house, she pauses to listen.
From one home comes the restless scratching of worry, from another the aching murmur of regret, from another the clear, bright note of joy. She listens to them all as if they were a song that has not yet found its melody.
Then, she reaches up and pinches the edge of her shawl between thumb and forefinger, giving it a well-practiced shake.
Tiny luminous threads spill and fly through the air, glimmering as they fall, bringing dreams like dandelion seeds send wishes out into the world. The dreams! Not just the kind that visits when we sleep, but the daytime visions that have not had time to fully arrive: the painting you yearn to make, the book you long to write, the quiet morning walks you keep promising to yourself, the morning play session with your child… She sings a whispering message, “Your dreams are finding you,” and the dreams find their people.
Sometimes a dream found its way to a child preparing for an impossible adventure. Sometimes it drifted for days before landing with a woman washing dishes, who would suddenly see herself in a studio creating that masterpiece she dreams of finishing. A grandfather buttoning his coat might be struck by the urge to get back to his tools and finish carving the toys he has been envisioning for grandchildren in his life. A teenager staring out into a grey city street might feel a stirring and suddenly imagine a different kind of future, feeling excited to sense that it is reachable.
The Good Winter Witch never forced a dream. She knew human beings could be stubborn. They often clung to familiar discomfort rather than risk unfamiliar joy. Yet, she still sprinkled the dreams and helped them find their people.
Sometimes, rarely, she looked in a window and saw someone already sitting with a notebook and candle, stirring their own inner images to life. At those houses, she smiled. “Ah,” she would murmur. “You remembered.” Then she would stand watch for a moment longer, send a blessing of love, and move on.
If anyone ever caught sight of her (and a few swore they had), it was always out of the corner of the eye; a shimmer of her scarf and the edge of her long coat as she flew up into the mists of the winter sky. It did not really matter whether you thought she was “real” or not; her gifts were always the same: people who had forgotten to nourish their dreams suddenly began remembering.
And … Every time someone takes a small step toward one of their dreams, the Good Winter Witch’s shawl grows a little larger and a little fuller for her to carry even more dreams that are ready to find their people and come true.
Spirit Thread of Day 3: Receiving. Not every moment of the season is about trying and striving. There are times in the season when our hands shall be ready to receive the gently falling snowflakes filled with dreams, inspirations, and invitations as they gently fall.
A Tiny Dream Ritual: Tonight, before bed, place a shallow bowl of water near a window through which Lady Moon can take a peek inside, remembering the old lore teaching that water can be a mirror of dreams. Let it catch the night’s whisper tonight and spend a few silent moments in the morning in gratitude for the dreams that are finding you.
Fiber Magic Craft: Felt or sew a tiny Dream Pouch.
In the days ahead, this tiny dream pouch can be a place where you can tuck in wishes, herbs, dreams, blessings, and your written intentions. Keep it near your winter candle for your daily moments of quiet or on your nightstand to invite your most magical dreams to tuck themselves into it. (I will be making my tiny dream pouch this evening and will share it with you in a short video on my YouTube channel. Remember to subscribe to know when new clips are added there + share your photos and experiences in the comments below this post. It would be such a joy to see them!)
Spell of the Good Winter Witch
Silver dreams the Winter Witch shakes down,
Drifting soft above your crown.
Inspiration’s snowflakes bring,
Looking for you, dreaming, wondering.
In your Dream Pouch, whispers hide.
Herbs and wishes tucked inside.
Fears dissolve in flakes of light,
melted by her gentle sight.
Wake to what your spirit knows;
No hand can halt the dream that grows.
Night becomes your guiding flame;
Each dream, a truth that speaks your name.
Day 4 - December 3rd: Threads Remember
There is something deeply captivating that resonates within our soul when we envision the life's journey as a tapestry or a weaving continually created from the threads of all that was, all that is, and all that is yet to be ... embelished by blessings we share and the blessings we gracefully receive ... continually expanded into new patterns that transform and dance and speak to the heart. Fiber folk know first-hand that thread and yarn remember: the hands that spun it, the stories told while winding the skein, the memories remembered and shared while stitches strung themselves in rows of beauty.
Story: The Thread That Remembers (click here to read the full story)
If you’ve ever found an old scarf at the back of a drawer and felt a flood of memories wash over you (the aroma of a bakery you walked into on a cold day, the icy wind nipping your nose during that winter you walked everywhere, the night you spilled hot chocolate on it and laughed until your belly hurt) then you already know what the old fiber folk meant when they said: “Thread remembers.”
Ancient stories of great cosmic weavers: three women by a well, or hooded figures with spindles, or a circle of grandmothers who wove the fates of gods and mortals alike, or ancient princesses discovering the gifts of silk; have been whispered somewhere since the beginning of worlds. They have helped wisdom keepers preserve the magic of fiber threads in our world, and fiber folk humbly share the experiences, reminding everyone that even the most humble yarn in your basket is also keeping record. Remembering, with each twist of its fiber, the feelings and the wishes of the person spinning it, the weather of the day, the stories told aloud in its presence.
In the kingdom behind seven mountains and across the seven seas, there lived an old woman known as Auntie Thread. No one remembered when she had come or if she had ever been young. She was known for being able to read the yarn and to enchant the yarn, too. People would bring her an old knitted sweater, a felted hat, a woven scarf, an embroidered shirt, a half-used skein inherited from a relative, and ask, “What does it say?”
“This one remembers a drought,” she might say. “The sheep were thirsty, and the woman who embroidered this shirt prayed over every stitch.”
Or: “This one was woven in laughter. It wants to be worn at more celebrations.”
Or, more softly: “This yarn was made by someone who didn’t believe in their own hands. It would be happy if you let it become something simple and useful, so it can prove itself quietly.”
Auntie Thread would then pull out a ball of her very special yarn, place it in her visitor’s hands, and ask, “What would you like this thread to remember about you this year?”
Some said, “I want it to remember that I’m brave.” Others whispered, “That I’m kind to animals,” or “that I finished something hard,” or simply, “that I tried.”
Then, she gifted them the yarn, and they would go home to knit or weave or braid it into the projects imbued with those wishes and intentions.
So when you pick up yarn or thread for your next fiber project, imagine it as a loving, patient listener. Ask yourself: what do I want this (garment, item, doll, etc.) to remember, to share, to gift, to tell, to heal, to protect ….? Then, imbue it with that blessing, story, wish, memory … and one stitch at a time and cast its gifts of remembering out into the world as a gift you will give away or a garment or a little treasure you will make to brighten your own day.
Fiber Magic Craft: Yesterday, we were reminded by the Good Winter Witch to pay attention to and to nourish our dreams - dreams that are finding us if we are ready to make them come true. Choose a thread that helps you remember your dreams, and use it to sew a tiny symbol or embellishment onto your tiny dream pouch. If you did not have time to make your dream pouch yesterday, today is a lovely day to do that, too. Below is a short video of my tiny pouch making for this season.
If you are inspired to share your experiences, please scroll down to add a comment or a few. May your dreams find you this season with ease and joy.
Let yarn remember my blessings with ease.
Day 5 - December 4th: Quiet I Bear Within
As winter approaches, the gardens slowly hush. Animals scamper to their nests and dens; the earth draws inward; the glimmer of frost greets us in the early morning. A sense of quiet, not as an empty space but as fullness of inner world, brims with possibility. (click the arrow to read the full story)
There comes a day, every year, when the world suddenly sounds different.
It’s not that noise vanishes. Cars still pass. Radios still play. Dogs still bark. But underneath the daily buzz, we can feel that something has shifted. If you go out early in the morning, you can hear it most clearly: a kind of hush lying across the land.
The old wisdom keepers shared the knowledge of the Earth’s being and the rhythms of her breathing, her exhales of the summer and deep inhales of the winter as sap is pulled back into tree trunks, energy folded into roots, color of bright blooms pressed into seeds. Their teachings were dressed in the beautiful enchantment of stories to keep them alive and safe in the world that was set on ignoring the presence and the marvelous potential for healing available to all who know in their heart the power of their inner magic.
So, the stories traveled. One tale spoke of a great bell that hung in the sky, invisible but audible to anyone who paused long enough. On a certain day, it would ring once, low and long, signaling that the Season of Clear Boundaries had begun. During that time, people were encouraged to say no to what scattered them, so they could say yes to what sustained and healed them. Near the start of the season of Clear Boundaries, in the kingdom behind the seven mountains and across the seven seas, in every home, someone would go through the house and quietly extinguish unnecessary lights and silence the hum of tools that have finished their work for the day. “It is the night to remember what the world sounds like when it isn’t shouting,” they’d say.
For a little while, they would sit by the fire, the soft glow of candlelight in their room. At first, it felt strange. Their hands twitched toward their distractions. Then, the other sounds arrived.
The ticking of the old clock. The small, shy crackle of logs. The slow breath of a sleeping pet. And under all of that, as they breathe very slowly, they could feel their own tiredness come forward and speak to them. Not frantically begging for coffee, but deeply, honestly showing it is time to melt it away and renew the inner forces within.
Slowly, as the evening hours settled in fully, some would doze off for an early night of sleep, some would find their fingers picking up their knitting or a book or an instrument they love to play. Conversations began to flow again, with a renewed sense of mood, and all discovered the enchanting beauty that happens when the noise stops for a moment, and we can hear what we most need to remember and heal before the end of the year.
Adding to Your Winter Nights Basket
Today is a good day to check our Winter Nights Baskets to make sure we are gathering supplies that our journey will call for in just a few days:
For Star of Harmony: cinnamon sticks, evergreen branches, bells, beads, star anise, tiny pinecones, and similar
For the Wheel of the Year Wreath: a simple wreath base (wire or branches in any size you choose), eight small candles for your wreath, tiny pine cones, dried orange slices, ribbons, etc.
We are not in a rush to make these magical items today. This week is the slow time of honoring with gratitude the items that we find are just right for making them.
These coming days are for listening; for letting each cinnamon stick, each pine sprig, each bead or bell whisper to you. Let your Winter Nights Basket fill itself quietly, and without hurry.
The Star of Harmony
In the timeless fairy tale realms, during this time of the year, star ornaments are shaped from whatever winter offers: twigs from the nearby wood, sprigs of evergreen, a bit of fragrant spice, a ribbon saved from some summer festival. These stars are hung over doorways, hearths, on holiday trees, in the windows, over cradles... as reminders:
May my inner world and outer world be in accord.
May my home be peaceful and my heart be open.
Your own Star of Harmony can become a charm of alignment, a weaving of wood (the body), spice (the spirit), evergreen (the enduring self), and bells (the call to joy).
Nothing exotic and elaborate is required. The power of your star charm is in your heart's joy and in the simplicity of the star shape bound together by your hands, carrying your intentions like a soft ember that will glow all season long.
The Wheel of the Year Wreath
A Circle That Remembers the Turning of Time, the great round that carries us from seed to blossom, harvest to rest. Creating a wheel of the year wreath as winter arrives can be a way to bless the threshold between the old year and the new.
In the kingdom behind seven misty mountains, each part of the wreath holds a special meaning:
A circle: the year’s continuous cycles
Eight candles: the solstices, equinoxes, and midpoint days (or you can also have only one candle in the center of your wreath representing all of these)
Evergreen: a life full of love, spirit, and abundance
Citrus or spice: sunlight rays preserved within
Pinecones: seeds of what will grow into the beautiful future ahead
The earth turns and prepares to start the next dance around the Sun, and all is renewed at just the right time.
Soon, you will weave your own Wheel of the Year, a simple, beautiful wreath that remembers the timeless rhythm of beginnings, middles, and endings that hold the world in harmony.
Day 6 - December 5th: The Forest Listens
The forest is a magically empowering listener. When snow covers the woods, a certain clarity in its listening opens the door to mysteries that hold the power to heal. Snow falls without correcting, covers without erasing, softens without silencing.
A Moment for Tiny Inner Magic:
Let your heart be heard today, most importantly by you, yourself.
On a small slip of paper, write one inner truth your heart needs you to remember and share joyously and lovingly with the world around you. Fold it and tuck it into a pocket you often use. When your fingers happen upon it, feel the inspirations of its reminders and let them remind you to hear the reminders of your loving, joyous heart.
Gather supplies for decorating your Tree of Wishes:
Dried orange slices, Cinnamon sticks, and Star anise
(Some of these are already in your basket, but if you did not have time to start your basket earlier this week, today is a great day to do that)
These will become ornaments with meaning on your tree:
Oranges – sun, joy, prosperity
Cinnamon – warmth, protection, success
Star anise – guiding star, clarity, harmony
Each will become an ornament with meaning: sun & prosperity, warmth & protection, guiding star & clarity.
Snowfield hush, teach me to fall
Soft and sure, without harm;
Inner truths warm and quiet in my shawl.
Tree of Wishes, rise from light,
With citrus, spice, and shine of stars
Illuminating every word I write.
Spirit, keep me brave and clear;
Let silent snowflakes bear wisdom through;
So I may speak what my heart holds dear.
Day 7 - December 6th: Blessings of Giving
In many places and traditions, today marks a joyous day when St. Nicholas visits and brings gifts and joyous greetings. It can be easy to forget that before St. Nicholas wore bishop’s robes, he was just like you and me, a generous, compassionate human being inspired to share and give to help those who had too little. Many stories still remember him leaving coins in shoes, bread on doorsteps, and warmth wherever he went. People said his lantern burned brighter the more he gave.
Story of the Lantern Bearer
Far beyond the seven misty mountains and across the seven blue seas, there lay a kingdom where kindness traveled faster than the wind. In this kingdom lived a humble wanderer known only as the Lantern Bearer. He owned almost nothing; just a patched cloak, well-worn boots, and a small brass lamp whose flame glowed like a tiny star. The lamp was not magical, except in the way all faithfully tended things become magical.
The Lantern Bearer’s joy was simple: he left gifts for others without being seen.
Not grand treasures, just small blessings that slipped into people’s lives like soft feathers: a coin in a shoe, a warm bundle of wood before a storm, wool socks appearing where cold feet had been shivering the night before.
Children whispered that he was a wizard. Adults wondered if he was a saint. The Lantern Bearer only smiled, for he wished to be none of those. He wished simply for kindness and compassion to stay alive in the world.
One year, winter grew sharp and heavy. Bread was scarce. Hope felt thin. So the Lantern Bearer gathered what the kingdom could spare: yesterday’s loaves, scraps of wool, bits of wood. He turned these humble things into tiny miracles and set out into the cold with his lamp. Every morning, doorsteps were bathed with blessings of gratitude as people would find his unexpected offerings. And soon, something wondrous happened: All people in the kingdom began giving, too! A woman left apples for her neighbor. A man paid for strangers to get the day's bread at the bakery. Children tucked drawings into the mail slots of lonely elders. The whole kingdom began to glow, lit by many quiet lamps.
A Personal Ritual: Tiny Sprinkles of Giving Magic
Give something small and secret today.
Hide a little blessing (a note, treat, or coin) where someone will find it unexpectedly.
Celebrate the gratitude and joy of having plenty to give little blessings to others.
Preparing for the Great Yule Night – Wool Socks & the Yule Cat
From old northern tales, we remember that the Yule Cat prowls winter nights, checking who wears new wool. Those who prepare nothing fresh for the winter feast risk her grumpy displeasure.
Prepare and plan for new woolen socks for each member of the household. These will be hung or placed under your decorated tree before the Great Night, on Dec 21 or Dec 22, and filled with: Coins for prosperity, Nuts for health, Sweets for love and good luck. Then, the socks will be worn through the night on New Year's Eve to welcome in the year of health, wealth, and joy.
Day 8 - December 7th: Blessings of Golden Light
Frau Holle, the great-grandmother of winter, shakes out her featherbed to make snow. She blesses the diligent and kindhearted, and those who tend their life's work with love.
Once long ago, beside an old well that knew more secrets than anyone could imagine, lived a girl who worked hard because no one else would. Her hands were gentle, her spirit steady, and her longing for kindness and belonging ran deep as the well itself.
One day, her spindle slipped from her tired fingers and fell into the dark water. Her stepmother sent her after it with a cold command. "Since you have let the reel fall in, you must fetch it out again." Terrified of what stepmother might do to punish her, the girl leaned over the stone rim, whispered a small, frightened prayer, and tumbled into its depths entirely.
She woke up in a meadow where the light felt alive. Bread in an oven called for her help; a tree heavy with apples asked to be shaken free. She answered their calls for help. She acted to help them, and the world softened around her.
Then, she reached the cottage of an old woman with winter in her smile and something timeless, ancient, in her eyes. “Do not fear, dear child. I am Frau Holle. Come in and help care for my home,” the woman told the girl, “Shake my featherbed each morning so the world may have snow.”
The girl did so faithfully, tenderly, and with her best effort and open heart every day. She found herself living in a peace she had never felt before. Yet, it could not quiet her homesick heart. When she asked to return home, Frau Holle nodded, as though she had been waiting.
At a great gate between worlds, snow-light shimmered into gold and poured over the girl her reward for tending life with sincerity. And just like that, she rose back to the world above, glittering in gold from head to heel.
Her step-sister tried to copy her path, but ... that part of the story is for another day…
A Personal Ritual:
Remember that your heart and your presence in the work you do matter more than the mere completion of the task.
Today, the mini personal ritual and the story invite you to bring your heart, your presence, and your joyful mindfulness into the tasks that require your attention and need your help.
To start, choose one simple household (or a craft or a project or...) task and complete it with full presence in heart and mind, with devotion and gratitude for the ability to complete it independently, with joy of knowing you are capable of showing up for it. Work with diligence and remember that, as simple as it might be, its blessings are many, even if they are hard to see. Shaking the bed covers and fluffing up the pillows brought much needed snow to the world Frau Holle tended to. This tiny ritual invites you to feel that each task, when done as if the great-grandmother Winter is watching, becomes imbued with magic that brings blessings yet unseen.
P.S. If your curiosity is piqued by today's story and you have not read/heard the old Frau Holle fairy tale but really want to know what happened to her step-sister, you can find it here at this link.
May Frau Holle shake bright blessings round your door,
Turning into a shining gift every daily chore.
May your tools feel your care,
As she nods in the hush of wintry air.
May the snow outside reflect the clarity you seek,
And may you rest tonight knowing
You have strengthened what once was weak.
Day 9 - December 8th: Gifts of Friendly Elves
In the old tale, Elves and the Shoemaker, elves come at night to help a poor shoemaker and his wife create shoes so fine that they change their life's fortune. Shoemaker and his wife meet them with open, grateful hearts as elves work by night, and they work by day.
Fancy fairy shoe or fairy boot charms with bells and whimsy can be joyful and very festive ornaments and gifts to invite into your space the blessings of prosperity while sharing your gratitude for the tiny house elves eager to have fun helping your home prosper.
Tiny Personal Prosperity Ritual for Day 9
Before sleep, set one work tool (needle, pen, laptop, spoon) near a candle: “May bright blessings shower this work so it may multiply the bright blessings showering my home, bringing goodness and prosperity for me, my loved ones, and our world.”
Prosperity is often a partnership between us and our seen and unseen helpers. It can be a very fun and simple experience of sharing the story and crafting your tiny charm for yourself or as a gift, or both. Here is a recent video with my retelling of the story and an example of a beginner-friendly way to felt a tiny fairy shoe charm.
Happy charm making!
Day 10 - December 9th: Spirit of the Hearth
Stories from long ago preserve the memory of the Spirit of the Hearth when it was well known that homes had hearth spirits, kind beings who swept misfortune out the door as families tended warmth, bread, and daily kindness. They adored laughter, storytimes, singing, loving connections within the home, as well as good work, care for the home, crafting, creating, and, of course, tiny fun surprises.
Today, as you tend to your home and hearth, sweeping the floor, tidying the main room, dusting a shelf ... open a window or the door and visualize stale energy leaving and making space for that which will be more nourishing.
When you have a few moments to slow down this week, click below to listen to today's story and find a strand of wool yarn to join me in creating a tiny Hearth Charm for your kitchen. It can be tucked into a potted plant or displayed in a window with a bright crystal pendant to bring in a bit of sparkle and a reminder that gratitude for our home and hearth multiplies the blessings and comforts it offers us and our loved ones.
Fiber Magic - Fingerknit a Hearth Charm
May warmth return to all corners of your home.
Day 11 - December 10th: Lessons of the Winter Bear
The story of the Winter Bear comes to us with reminders and lessons that empower us to take time for retreating and creating our own nourishing rhythms of renewal. Some say that when a bear sleeps, the bear dreams the world back into balance, rebirthing it, healing what ails, knitting back together what might be broken.
Personal Rest Ritual
Today, take time to rest. Resting can mend more than we realize.
Prepare for yourself your favorite comforting cup of tea or coffee or cocoa, or ... sip it slowly ... and let its warmth relax your hands and become the focus of a short meditation. Hold the warm cup in your hands between sips and let your mind quiet down, let your breathing harmonize with your heart space, feel the light in your heart expand and envelop you fully in its loving glow. Practice is in the warmth and in letting worries and mental chatter pause ... float away or just be set aside during this, your moment of renewing rest and calm.
Let this little personal ritual be as long or as short as feels possible and needed today. Even if you only take 3 minutes, do not underestimate the power they can restore in your inner forces. And what could happen if you took those short 3 minutes for this personal ritual every day (or most days) of the week?
On some days, you might find yourself melting deeply into a twenty-minute meditation ... If you can, bless yourself by making that possible as your forces are asking for a little extra care to be renewed and ready to carry you into the next tasks of your journey.
(click to read) Story: Teaching of the Winter Bear
Imagine a forest just before the snow. The leaves have all fallen. The underbrush is a tangle of brown and grey. The air smells of damp earth and something faintly metallic, like the taste of cold on your tongue. If you stand very still, you might hear the scurry of a mouse or the wingbeat of a crow, but mostly, it’s quiet.
Under a tangle of roots, in a den lined with last year’s leaves and soft moss, a bear is making her final preparations. She is not lazy. She has spent all autumn in a kind of urgent feast, eating berries and nuts and whatever else she could find, building up reserves. Now, though, that season is done.
She circles in the den, testing the contours, adjusting the arrangement of twigs, checking the entrance one last time. She is not thinking about productivity. She is thinking, “Will this hold me? Will this keep me safe while I do the great work of sleeping?”
Outside, the human world debates whether to admire or mock her.
Some say, “Ah, the bear. Far wiser than us. She knows to rest.” Others say, “Must be nice to sleep the winter away. The rest of us have to keep going.” Both forget that the bear’s sleep is not meaningless nor laziness. It is part of the forest’s rhythm and life cycles.
While the bear sleeps, the forest recalibrates. Her absence from the daily loop changes predator-prey balances, seed dispersal patterns, and even how the snow lies on the ground. Beneath the surface, in her body, quiet miracles unfold: metabolism slows, bones maintain density, wounds heal. She is not doing "nothing". She is doing the kind of work that only looks like nothing from the outside.
The old wisdom keepers have always known this.
They told of a Bear Mother who carried the sun into her cave at the onset of winter and brought it out again in spring. Of children who sought counsel from a dreaming bear and returned with wisdom that could not have been earned any other way. Of shamans who learned to “hibernate” in their own fashion, going into silence and darkness for a time so they could return with gifts for the tribe.
In our culture, we talk a great deal about “showing up.” But we forget that sometimes the most courageous way to show up is to pause, rest, or even take time for a longer sleep.
On a night like this, people used to sit by their fires and talk about what they would place “into the den” with them for the season: which thoughts, which projects, which questions they wanted to carry into deeper rest. They recognized that you cannot bring everything. Some things must be left outside to fend for themselves, and that is all right.
One woman might say, “I will carry my grief into the den and let it dream.” A man might say, “I will carry my unanswered questions about work.” Another might say nothing, simply pressing a hand over their heart.
They did not literally burrow into the earth. But they gave themselves permission to have some part of their life go quiet.
We rarely do this now. We demand of ourselves summer in December: constant flowering, constant speed, constant output. Then we wonder why our inner soil dries and cracks.
So tonight, I invite you to think of the bear. Imagine her curled in the dark, breath slow, heart steady, held by the earth. Imagine your own soul pausing to rest beside her for a while.
What might you dare to stop doing, maybe not forever, but for a season? What part of you longs to be allowed to sleep so it can mend itself and heal?
You don’t need to have the answers. It is enough to acknowledge: “I, too, am a creature of cycles. I, too, am allowed to hibernate in my own way, even if my mind and body still have to attend meetings and finish daily errands.”
The Winter Bear asks only that you stop calling all rest “laziness,” and remember that sometimes, sleeping through the storm is the wisest thing in the forest.
Winter Bear
Winter Bear, curl in my chest,
Help my heartbeat slow to rest.
Shrink my lists and hush my mind,
Leave only peace and dreams behind.
Wool-warm comfort, stay with me,
Store your quiet like a seed.
Let my bed be gentle snow,
A safe place where soft hours go.
When the true time calls my name,
Wake me with your steady flame,
And let the strength I gather deep
Guide my steps from winter sleep.
Day 12 - December 11th: Star Charm Gifts & Blessings
Today's story reminds: You are a maker of magic, tending the blessings of inner light.
Sometimes, in the hush of winter, a small handmade thing can feel like a lighthouse. As I tell you the tale of The Star Charm Gifts & Blessings, I wanted to invite your hands to join me with the quiet rhythm of old menders who once stitched not just cloth, but courage back into weary hearts. As you listen and watch the video below, where a simple cross of fabric turns into a tiny star-shaped friend, a little companion born from cloth and whispered blessings. You’ll see how hope can be folded, wrapped, and tied into shape, how a bit of wool and thread can soften the sharp edges of a long night.
There is a certain magic in witnessing a charm being made. It reminds you that new light can come from the humblest beginnings. So, dear maker of magic, follow the thread and step into the story with me. Bring along a few scrap pieces of fabric and your winter basket, and let's create star-shaped charms, guardians, and tiny bundles of care just like Lina in the faraway kingdom in the story did to place them in pockets, windows, on desks, by pillows, on nightstands ... to remind all of their own guiding stars, to call home good dreams and safe journeys.
Day 13 - December 12th
As the solstice nears, night deepens. Seeds dream. Animals curl. Humans gather stories, warmth, and courage.
Personal Ritual - Befriending the Winter Night
Do not rush the dark. It has gifts. What if you could befriend the winter night?
Sitting in a candlelit room, letting your eyes adjust, notice the shapes of dancing candle flame and then the shapes of dancing shadows around the room ... and then the dance of light and shadow within you ... Feel into the spaces that call for your tending, nourishment, and healing. Befriend this space, but do not get lost in it. Transform it into action. At first, very practical actions are best: decluttering a room or a drawer, removing things that are not used or loved from your spaces ... declutter, clean, open the space for the energy of healing and renewal to enter ... If you have not set up your seasonal nature corner or placed your holiday evergreen tree in its special place, this is a great time to do that. If it is already in place, use the time to reconnect with the ornaments and details on it, dust them off if needed, consider the energy they are inviting, replace some of them if you feel called to ... your nature corner and your tree are magical in their own way. Prepare them to be anchors for the energy of your most joyous wishes coming true.
O Quiet Night of longest breath,
Unfurl your velvet hush in me.
Let flickering flame and dancing shadow
Reveal what longs to be set free.
Where shadows pool, let courage rise;
Where tenderness is called, let me attend.
Guide my hands to simple tasks
The sweep, the sorting, the gentle mend.
May every drawer I clear of weight,
Every corner brushed of yesterday,
Become a cradle for renewed delight,
a lantern for my true way.
Bless my tree, my nature nook
These humble shrines of evergreen
That they may hold my winter vows
And guard the dreams I’ve yet to dream.
And as the deep night circles close,
May I not rush, nor turn away
But walk beside the ancient dark,
Its quiet magic lighting the day.
Day 14 - December 13th: Magick of Ornament Making
In so many stories and tales of old wisdom-ways, the red thread appears, bringing its power and enchantment. At times, it protects the heroine of the story who tucks it in her pocket before entering the dark night in the enchanted forest, at other times it leads one out of a maze of dreadful dangers, yet at other times, it bring good luck to the one wearing it as a charm, or fortifies an invisible shield protecting an entrance to a home or a castle or a whole other realm.
Today, you are invited to add some red thread to your winter basket of supplies and to join me tomorrow in our livestream on my YouTube channel, where we will gather to make magickal ornaments for our festive holiday trees.
Supplies you will need in your basket for our magickal ornament-making time together:
dried orange and lemon slices - sun joy, prosperity
cinnamon sticks - warmth, wealth, protection
star anise - guidance, clarity, harmony
short and thin twigs from your favorite tree, red thread, a few evergreen sprigs, a bell, a ribbon, and a special crystal or a charm or two you love very much. Remember to have a pair of scissors available and extra supplies just in case your magickal ornament-making work attracts other family members to join in.
Link to log in for the live stream: click here or on the image below
Time: Dec 14th at 7 pm Central Time to 7:30 pm Central Time
Day 15 - December 14th
Day 16 - December 15th: Candle & Mirror
Candles and mirrors were once used for clarity, not vanity. Lessons and wisdom preserved in the magic of ancient fairy tales still teach of the powerful ways candles and mirrors could serve one's inner work, spiritual quest, a discovery, a healing, etc.
There are times when the candle can help one illuminate a gloomy path, show a spark of joy and inspiration, while the mirror reflects the unvarnished truth one must face, or heal or transform in some way to move into the next phase of their life story with grace.
Moving closer and closer to the longest Winter night this season, personal inner work can be a source of strengthening, inspiration, healing... and a candle and a mirror might be two whimsical tools that offer a little sprinkle of personal magic or a powerful deepening for those who are ready to step through the portal and into the fairy tale realm's enchanted forest.
Personal Candle & Mirror Ritual
One way to gently experience the magic of candle and mirror in personal inner work:
Sit with a candle and a small mirror for one minute
Look at yourself with love, honesty, and kindness. Quietly tell your reflection in the mirror, "You are love. You are loved."
Ask, “What is ready to be released?” You do not need an answer now. The question itself is the work. Sit with the question as you gaze at the candle flame for a few minutes. Extinguish the candle and put away your mirror. In the next day or two, allow your heart and mind to speak to you and make notes in your journal of inspirations that arise.
Sun Field Yule Log for Healthy Prosperity (we will make them this week)
Consider creating your Yule Log this year as a decorative candle holder charged to boost the blessings of a healthy prosperity flow in ways that bring true prosperity that is balanced and nourishes body, heart, mind, relationships, and wholeness of life.
Your branch piece or a log you prepared, evergreens, cones, herbs, bells, candles, berries, and ribbons might already be in your Winter Journey Basket, but if not, this is a good time to gather them as we will be making our Yule logs this week so that we can start bringing their light into our journey from Dec 20th to Dec 31st.
Sun Field Yule Log can be a bright symbol of gratitude for the love, money, and good fortune flowing through life in expected and unexpected ways, setting the energy in our intentions for a prosperous and healthy New Year.
Yule Cat and the New Wool
In faraway lands of the North, somewhere between the last day of autumn harvest and the first day of Yule, a creature prowls the snow.
It is not a wolf, though it walks as silently. It is not a fox, though its eyes gleam with mischief. It is a Yule Cat, enormous and shaggy, its fur like smoke and shadow.
The cat stalks the countryside on long winter nights, peering into windows with her lantern-yellow eyes, checking what everyone wears to the Yule feast table. Those who wear a new pair of wool socks are sniffed approvingly and are left in peace. Those wearing old socks … well, the stories wander. Some say the cat eats their dinner. Some say it eats their shoes. The darkest versions whisper far worse.
But most grandmothers soften their voices at this point and say, “The Cat will find a way to scare greed and laziness right out of you.”
Beneath the drama of Yule Cat stories lives a very practical truth. In harsh climates, new wool before the deep cold arrives can mean the difference between comfort and sickness. The Yule Cat is less a monster and more a furry embodiment of communal conscience: Take care of one another. Make sure no one meets winter unprepared.
When you knit, or buy, or gift new wool socks at Yule, you are not merely keeping toes warm. You are "feeding" the Yule Cat, so it does not need to steal anyone’s supper. You are honoring an ancient pact: Let no one be left in the cold, if our hands can help it.
The Yule Cat is fierce, but what it truly hungers for is not fear. It craves the sight of new wool socks hugging ankles that would otherwise be bare, it craves the sight of generous hearts ready their warmth to share, it loves seeing proof that winter has been met with care for another, and that the old agreements of generosity still hold true. May Yule Cat Blessings flow gently to you, too.
Day 17 - December 16th: Story of The Star of Harmony
In the corner of a small kitchen, where steam often clouded the window, and the table was permanently dusted with flour and thread ends, there lived a handful of ingredients: cinnamon sticks, spruce twigs, red berries, tiny bells. They lay in their respective jars for most of the year, watching dough being kneaded, socks being knitted, children laughing and being hugged by their parents.
One winter, the family that lived there, who loved each other, found themselves so very tired. Work was hard, money was thin, the world outside was loud. Little irritations grew into sharp, painful words that hung in the air like smoke that would not clear. Even when they laughed, there was a shadow underneath. The house itself began to feel out of tune.
One evening, the grandmother who has been watching this take with wise concern, took a basket from the shelf and into it she put a few cinnamon sticks, an evergreen branch, red beads, golden bells, a coil of wire, and some strong red thread.
“What are you doing?” the youngest asked.
“I’m making a letter to the stars to call them to sing to our home's heart,” she answered cheerfully, though her eyes held a tone of seriousness.
At the table, she laid five cinnamon sticks in the shape of a star and bound their meeting points with wire. Around that simple shape, she wove evergreen sprigs, whispering with loving care the names of each family member as she worked, not as a spell, but as a reminder: we love each other, and we belong to one another.
She threaded red beads and bells, tying them on with red thread that looped and twisted, criss-crossing the sticks. Each knot was a silent prayer from her wise, loving heart: “May we speak gently. May we listen before we speak. May we remember that we are on the same team. May our hearts soften and our light expand to embrace the joy together we are.”
The child watched, entranced. When the Star was finished, it was not symmetrical in any formal sense. One arm reached a little longer, one bead sat slightly off-center. But its presence felt fully alive.
“Where will it live?” the child asked.
They hung the Star of Harmony above the kitchen table.
At first, nothing dramatic happened. People still snapped at each other sometimes. But every time they did, the little bells on the Star rang softly, as if startled. The sound was too gentle to be scolding. It was more like a tap on the shoulder.
“You are being heard,” the bells seemed to say. “Is this what you wanted your familyto hear?”
Over time, the Star gathered apologies and laughter, late-night confidences and early-morning grumbles. The cinnamon dried and darkened, but its scent remained, a faint sweetness in the air, especially when the kettle boiled.
Years later, when the children were grown and came back only for holidays, they would look up and see the Star still hanging slightly crooked above the table. “We were a mess,” they’d say fondly. “But somehow, we always found our way back.”
They didn’t know that the scraps in the grandmother’s basket had been watching all along, waiting for the moment they could be woven into something that listened.
This year, when you make your own Star of Harmony, you too might be giving your home a set of ears and a wise, patient heart, reminding all that even when they disagree or feel they must argue, there is still a guiding light in each heart holding everyone together, ringing softly to remind us of how much love we hold within and the goodness of belonging to each other.
Day 18 - December 17th: The Wreath that Holds the Year
Once, in a season when the light was thin, and the hands longed for making, a seeker asked a grandmother-of-many-lifetimes, “If time is a circling spiral, why do I feel as though I keep passing the same stones and stumbling over them again and again?”
The old grandmother-of-many-lifetimes smiled and tapped the wreath on her table.
As she tapped on it, the wreath came to life. Evergreen boughs reaching out like wishes ready to come true. Pinecones holding forest secrets... slices of dried orange catching the light and keeping the warmth of the Sun. Set into the circle were eight humble candles.
“This,” she said, “is the wreath that holds the promises of the year ahead. The trouble is not that you'll return to the start of the next cycle. The trouble is forgetting who you were the last time you passed this gate.”
In the timeless realm where the old grandmother-of-many-lifetimes dwells, wreaths sit on tables or hang in doorways where daily life brushes past them. Each part of the wreath stands for something living: work and rest, kin and calling, the body that carries us, the love that nourishes us, the home we keep, the mystery that keeps us.
As the dark winter weeks approach, households gather not to rush the night away, but to greet it properly. Children are sent on sacred errands: bring something from the year that is ending. A movie stub. A shell. A length of yarn from a finished labor of love.
The grown ones brought evergreen for endurance, spice for warmth, ribbon for wishes still shy of words. Hands worked. Hearts sang.
Minds remembered, “Remember when we thought we couldn’t manage, and made it through? ... Remember when you learned to read ... when the cupboards had to be guarded from the paws of our new pouppy ... when the roof leaked, and help arrived before we asked?”
The wreath listened and became an archive you could touch, a spell woven of laughter, grief, effort, and grace. When a candle was lit, it was not mere ambiance. It was illumination. This is where we have been. This is what we survived. This is what we carry forward.
The seeker watched quietly, the way one does when something old and true is unfolding, “But what of the parts I wish I could undo? The sharp words. The wrong turns.”
The old grandmother-of-many-lifetimes reached into her wreath and drew out a folded piece of paper, soft and yellowed with age.
“That,” she said, “holds the times I spoke before listening in the past year. I wrote them down and tucked them here. Not as punishment but to be released and burned into ashes and returned to earth with gratitude for the lessons my shortcomings have taught me, with a prayer that I keep transforming them into strengths that will give goodness to the world. The wheel of the year can take what we feel embarrassed by and errors we wish we could undo and help us move forward into the next year in ways that will let us grow wiser, stronger, and more generous in our words and deeds.”
The seeker peered closer. Among the green and gold was a tiny folded nest for errors, regrets, lessons learned, and ready to be transformed into wisdom and grace.
The wreath was not heavy with them. It was holding them warmly, preparing to let them turn to ashes that will feed the fertile soil of the coming year.
"You too, can make your wreath," said old grandmother-of-many-lifetimes, "while reminding yourself: I have been here before, in this longing, at these crossroads. And I lived. I learned. I grew, and I am ready to give back in service.” The Wheel will turn whether you watch it or not. But when you place it where your hands can reach it, when you light it with intention during the winter nights, you remember: You are not trapped in a loop. You are walking a spiral, and each turning carries a little more wisdom and a lot more loving joy.
Day 19 - December 18th: The Brightly Glowing Log
In a forest, not far from where magickal knitting needles rest, a tree once stood patient and tall. It had seen children stretch taller than yesterday, troubles arrive loudly, leave quietly, seasons turn like a slow, finely attuned spindle. But mostly, it watched the sun.
In summer, the sun lingered; brazen, affectionate, tangled in the highest branches as if it might never leave. In winter, it came shyly, slantwise, a brief visitor with cold hands and an apology for having to leave so soon. After a long, dim autumn, the tree felt something ripple through its roots. Not words, people rarely speak their deepest worries aloud, but a low hum of fear: The light is going. Will it return? Will we still be here when it does?
Trees are patient, yes, but they are not indifferent. When the time came for this tree’s life to change, not by storm or rot, but by careful hands and spoken gratitude, the tree made a quiet vow: If I must leave the forest, I will carry the glow of the sun another way.
The people who felled it did so properly. Prayers of gratitude were spoken for the tree and the forest. Palms pressed to bark. Most of the wood became shelter, beams holding roofs, boards holding lives, bowls and plates and spoons, a few toys, too. One piece remained. A solid length of trunk, uncracked, unhurried. It rested through early snow, listening, waiting, humming faintly with purpose.
An old woman noticed it.
“Well now, you are clearly meant to be a Yule Log.”
She took it home. She hollowed small cups along its length, not wounds, but nests. She smoothed it, oiled it, decorated it; her heart and hands warmed in the process, and her thoughts flooded with memories of the winters recorded in the rings of the tree. Then, she placed it at the center of her table. Each night through the Holy Nights that Yule season, she set candles into the log and lit them, saying:
You, who once held sunlight in leaf and limb, hold it now in flame with me. Thank you.
The neighbors smiled kindly.“Why speak to the tree that had been cut already? It does not help,” they said. The old woman smiled, “It helps me, and trees and the forest notice, too.”
And for those 13 days and 12 nights, the log became the heart of the house. Around it, fingers learned stitches, people spoke stories, remembered promises, and learned new things. Around it, quarrels softened and mended.
One night that winter, the old woman called the children close. “This,” she said, resting her hand on the log, “is a bridge. Heart to Spirit. Past to future. Light to light. Even when I am gone, keep finding one every winter and lighting it through the Holy Nights; not because you must, but because it teaches something important: That light can change shape and still be light, and that endings are not endings at all.”
They promised, and they remembered.
Every year, they continued to make a Sun Yule Log, remembering:
What seems like a loss may simply be light looking for a new form. What looks like darkness may be a spacious room preparing to welcome newness into its space.
And they were sure they could hear the Sun Yule Log whisper to them:
I will sit with you through these dark winter nights. Bring your yarn. Bring your stories. We’ll watch the days lengthen together and welcome the rebirth of the Light.
Day 20 - December 19th: The Story that Finds You
In the pause before the longest night, in that quiet, something ancient clears its throat.
A story.
Not the kind you chase down in libraries or scroll past on glowing screens. This is the kind that finds you. It taps softly at the inside of your ribs. It repeats itself in odd ways.
When life grows quiet, stories grow bold.
They arrive as a dream that refuses to be forgotten by morning.
As a childhood memory that suddenly feels urgent, unfinished, alive.
As a myth, a fairy tale, a fragment of lore that keeps slipping into your thoughts.
Winter is a storyteller’s friend. Wrapped in long nights and short bright days, we become more available. The noise thins. The veils loosen. And stories step forward.
Some come to teach.
Some come to warn.
Some come simply to remind you who you were before the world told you who to be.
Personal Ritual: Letting Your Story Find You
Pay attention today to which story keeps circling back to you.
It may not announce itself grandly. It may arrive wearing the plain clothes of a memory, a half-forgotten book, a tale you loved once and then inexplicably set aside. If it keeps returning, uninvited, persistent, gentle, it is likely because it has work to do with you.
Consider this: perhaps you are not choosing a story for the coming year. Perhaps the story is choosing you.
Write down one story fragment that appears today.
Do not force it into shape. A sentence is enough. A single image. A name. A feeling. Let it be incomplete. Stories, like seeds, know how to finish themselves when the time is right.
Fold the paper. Place it somewhere warm and ordinary: a basket of yarn, a book you love, beneath your teacup. Let it rest. Let it listen.
✧ A Tiny Moment for a Sparkle of Fiber Magic ✧
Take up your fiber, needle, hook, spindle, or thread, and work a few improvised stitches.
No pattern. No counting. No correcting.
Let your hands tell the story instead of your mind. Let the rhythm carry what words cannot yet hold. If the stitches wander, good. Stories rarely walk in straight lines.
This is not about making something perfect. It is about making space.
Being chosen by a story is not dramatic thunder and lightning. It is usually quiet. Like being recognized by an old friend you didn’t realize you’d been missing.
The stories that find us are often mirrors. They do not flatter. They do not rush. They wait patiently until we are ready to see ourselves clearly.
May the right story arrive exactly when you need it.
May it walk beside you and remind you that you always belong.
Day 21 - December 20th: The Night Before Yule
Personal Ritual: Yule Letters of Gratitude
The old year stands at the gate. The sun feels far, but its return is already being prepared, silently. After dark, the Yule Log is lit with the first candle. By its warm, soft glow, Letter of Gratitude is written to the departing year:
remembering its joys and challenges
thanking each for what it brought in experiences, growth, and new opportunities
signed with gratitude and renewed joy, and your name.
The letter is then placed under the Yule Log to be burned in the flames of the solstice fire circle (or a candle or your fireplace) the next day.
Sitting with that sense of gratitude, switch your attention to the new year being born. Write a short note of gratitude for the blessings you feel it is bringing you. Fold your note three times and tuck it into your journal. Holding the energy of those anticipated blessings, feeling that they are already received by you in joy, ease, and love, embroider a sun symbol on the cover of your journal or on its first blank page. Feel and imbue it with the energy of the blessings your new year brings you and your loved ones.
Place the journal where it will be ready for your daily or weekly reflections and notes throughout the coming year.
Drift off into the land of dreams on this night before Yule, knowing the coming year is bringing blessings of love, care, grace, and joy.
Day 22 - December 21st: Winter Solstice, Yule Day, Mother's Night
Winter Solstice, Dec 21st 2025 at 9:03 am, Central Time
This is the longest night of the year. After this, the day slowly lengthens. Traditions of ancestors of my great-grandmothers call it Mother’s Night. The Great Mother watches over the turning of the sun, Divine Goddess, Gaia, Mary, Makosh, Mother Earth, Demeter, and our own grandmothers of body, and/or soul, and/or spirit relations.
Personal Ritual for Mother's Night on Winter Solstice
Move through the day between mundane and magickal realms while feeling the ways in which you are held by a long line of women and caregivers who came before you. Finish cleaning and lovingly arranging the heart of your home (kitchen, table, altar). Finish decorating your evergreen tree and place your Wheel of the Year Wreath in a central place.
After dark, the Yule Log is lit. By its warm, soft glow, Honor your mother and grandmothers:
Call or message living mothers and grandmothers in your life with gratitude and a meaningful gift from your heart to theirs. It does not have to be a luxurious gift, but something that, in a heartfelt, meaningful way, will connect you to your mother or grandmother and the gratitude you hold for her.
This can be a very soft and joyous moment, but it can also be a moment that invites healing into a strained relationship, as we will remind ourselves that challenges are also gifts that teach and strengthen us in their own way.
For those beyond the veil: light a candle, place a tiny symbolic offering beside it (a walnut, a beaded bracelet, a dried flower, a pinecone, ... something that connects you to your mother and grandmother), and speak silently in your heart to them about your year.
In some homes, the eldest woman present symbolically “opens the gates” of the new year, blessing the house and those who live in it.
Story: The Door of In-Between (click to read)
There comes a hush in the great wheel of the year when even time loosens its grip. The air leans. It lingers. It forgets to hurry. If you step outside on that day, you may feel the world draw a long, shimmering breath, as if everything is briefly balanced between what has been and what is becoming.
A door appears. Not a grand door, mind you. No trumpets. No flashing signs. It has no interest in spectacle, but quietly, yet brightly, glowing with the kind of forever that only very old magic carries.
Most people pass right by.
They walk with arms full of lists and minds full of clocks. Gifts to gather. Bills to tame. Meals to make. Problems to wrestle with. But every year, without fail, there are a few: a child whose wondering has not yet been trained out of them, a mother whose heart is listening for something more than noise, an elder whose memories have softened into wisdom and now glow from the inside.
They pause. They notice the way the space between two trees shimmers. The way the edge of a garden hums. ...and... The door sings to them.
If you grow very still inside, you may see the door’s markings: leaves and needles, stars and spirals, tiny twists of thread stitched into the frame as if the door itself is continually being made by unseen fingers.
Lay your palm upon it, and you’ll feel winter warmth born of old fires and loved stories. Press your ear against the wood, and you may hear pages turning, knitting needles clicking softly, soup murmuring to itself, a candle breathing, a story calling your name.
If you turn the handle and step through, you discover that on the other side lies the place where snowflakes are imagined before they fall, where tomorrow’s stories are still choosing their shapes.
There, the New Year sits at a loom, patient and bright-eyed, waiting to see which colors you will place in its hands for the weaving with the next circle around the sun.
You may step back ... or ... you may whisper, very softly, I am here. I see you.
The door of in-between never demands that you cross every day, nor that you live on one side forever. But once opened, it remembers you, and from that moment on, some quiet part of you will always know the way back. When the world feels too sharp, too loud, too small, you will
remember: joy is real, love is alive, magic has never left; it has only been waiting for you to pause.
Day 23 - December 22nd
When we light the Wreath candles today, we remember the older than old invocation for the Bright Joyful Koledo,
Bright Child of Winter Sun,
Turn the Wheel in our favor,
Bring success, joy, and warmth to this house.
Let our year be blessed in love, health, and prosperity.
Personal Ritual: The newly born sun is welcomed!
This is the day when we fully welcome the newborn Sun, Koledo, following the longest night and witnessing the victory of light over darkness as the day slowly readies to lengthen. We celebrate the time of rebirth and a promise of the Spring that is to come.
Today, our home is full of music, laughter, blessings, treats, and the sharing of joy with others. We prepare a special spread of 12 treats to share as a symbolic "feast", a reconnection back to the long-ago ancestral times when a full feast of 12 meals was served in celebration of the Sun's rebirth. We connect our wishes to our evergreen holiday tree and add an angel or a bell, a pinecone or a nut or two, a few sweet candy canes, a tiny house ornament, etc. The wool socks are filled with blessings for wealth, health, and love for each member of the household and placed under the tree for them to find and wear on the New Year's Eve, the eve of the twelfth day of Yule.
Prepare a festive spread of 12 treats, snacks, or even dishes if possible, to invoke the energy of generosity and abundance for the new journey around the Sun. These can be fancy and elaborate, if that is what you feel called to do, but they can also be assembled from the items you have in your home that are already partly or fully prepared, which you can arrange beautifully on your kitchen table for all to share during the day.
Bring to life the magic of your holiday evergreen tree, which you have likely decorated by now. Add a few special ornaments that you can imbue with your wishes and blessings for good things you wish to expand in the coming year for you and your loved ones.
Farewell, old year. Bless us, new year, with love, health, and plenty for all.
Ornaments to consider adding with intentions, wishes, and blessings:
Angels or bells – protection
Cones or corn or nuts – money & harvest
Houses – home & comfort
Work tools – success in your calling
Candies or icicles or lanterns – sweetness and joy
Figures for your work – success in your craft or career
Lanterns, candles, lights – joy and good mood
Planes, trains – safe travel
Gold & red baubles, tinsel, bows – general abundance
Green ornaments – wellbeing & growth
Blue – study, information, mind
Purple, turquoise – writing & creative work
Birds – lifting sadness and melancholia
Wool Socks & Yule Cat:
Put wool socks for each person under the tree or hang them nearby
Slip in: a coin for wealth, a nut for health, a sweet treat for love
Remember to make sure all are wearing their wool socks and receiving the charms on New Year's Eve.
Story: The Great Night of Koleda (click to read)
There is feasting, and then there is Koleda.
You can tell the difference by the way the house smells. Ordinary meals smell of one or two things: soup, frying onions, baking bread. Koleda smells like the entire year has been invited to the table. Grains, fruits, nuts, honey, spices — each dish a memory, an invocation, a hope.
On this night, the old calendars say, the new sun is born. Not the blazing disc you see in July, but a small, fierce spark hidden behind the horizon, learning to breathe. It will take months to grow strong. In the meantime, humans do the only sensible thing: they throw a party as if warmth has already arrived.
Central to this night is a simple question: how shall we feed the year that is coming?
In some homes, a place at the table is set for the ancestors or for the unexpected guest. In others, the “extra” setting is symbolic, a reminder that no matter how tight the budget, the heart must not contract. Hospitality is a magic that keeps the soul from shrinking.
The rituals differ by region and tradition; some make a spread of twelve dishes for twelve months, or seven for luck, or three for the holy. None may contain bitterness. Even in lack, people find ways to sweeten something: a drizzle of honey, a pinch of sugar, a song, a smile, a memory.
Outside, in the dark, Koledo walks.
Koledo is a word, a being, and a sound... In some tales, he is a radiant boy, in others a sun-faced rider, in others the festival itself. In some places, children with lanterns and bells go from house to house singing songs, their breath puffing in the cold, collecting treats and coins. Their carols are brash and off-key and absolutely holy.
They stand in doorways and bless: “May your fields be full, your table heavy, your heart light.” They stomp snow from their boots and shake it onto the floor, leaving little puddles of melted snow. They are paid in cookies and laughter. They move on.
The gods must smile. The ritual is both for them and not for them at all. It is for humans to rehearse abundance even when they are not sure how it will arrive.
When you eat something tonight, a piece of bread, a spoonful of grain, a single segment of fruit, you can join this feast in miniature. You can say, silently,
“May I help feed the year that is coming, with my courage, my kindness, my work. May there be enough for me, enough for those I love, enough for those I have not yet met.”
Great Night
By this Great Night, let tables be wide,
Let plenty and peace here both abide.
Let tree and ornament softly conspire,
And Yule Cat rests by hearth and fire.
Let twelvefold dishes bless more than the need,
Let fortune turn kindly in word and in deed.
Let laughter dwell where love is spun,
As this home is warmed by the newborn sun.
Day 24 - December 23rd: Wishes & the Wheel of Life
On this night of Yule, the night of wish fulfillment, we are invited to remember that energy flows where our thought goes. This shows us the path for consciously and intentionally shaping our path through the coming year. This evening, by the glow of your yule log, consider a variation of a personal ritual that will bring this intention to life for you in ways that are meaningful and in resonance with your life and your traditions.
Here are a few that I have grown to love over the years.
Personal Ritual: My Wheel of Life
Draw an 8-spoked Wheel of Life and label each area as:
(1) health, (2) love, (3) family, (4) home, (5) work, (6) money,
(7) creativity, (8) community.
Rate each area on a scale of 1–10 and us emarkers or color pencils to color in the segments according to your feelings for colors that you feel resonate with each area of life.
Gaze at your “wheel”. Feel and decide which areas you’re called to nourish in the coming year.
Write a note of intention, a personal blessing, or a personal prayer for each area on the wheel or for the areas that are in need of focused attention during the next year.
Let your circle rest overnight while you sleep. In the morning, take a look at your circle again and write in your journal any insights or reminders, etc., and add your circle to your journal to reconnect with as the year unfolds.
Expand with Fiber Magic
Knit or crochet a circular piece with the 8-fold stitch pattern expanding from the center outward, representing the areas on your wheel of life. Use thread in colors that reflect the colors from your wheel to embroider symbols and shapes that will bring a connection between you and your intentions for each area of life for the coming year. You can use your finished project as a journal cover, or a table display, or an altar cloth, or ...
Expand with Coffee Bean Wish-making
Take a handful of coffee beans.
Holding them, focus on your wishes in each life area represented on your Wheel of Life. Imbue them and breathe your blessings and intentions into them.
Place them in a tiny cup or a bowl
As their fragrance rises, may my life fill with aligned opportunities.
Keep the bowl on your altar or table for the remainder of Holy Nights. Place them into the soil of your garden or potted plants at the end of the Holy Nights of this winter's magic journey.
Personal Ritual: Prosperity Grains
Prepare 7 sacred grains
wheat - Sun - fruitfulness, bounty, and rebirth
rice - Moon - fertility and abundance
oats - Mars - prosperity and sustenance
millet - Mercury - communication, divination, health
rye - Jupiter - love, heart
barley - Venus - a gentle, nurturing, stimulates the Heart Chakra and is used to ease a person’s emotional burden by turning harsh feelings into love and warding off any negativity
corn - Saturn - return of life and structured the abundance of nature
Place small amounts of each grain into a tiny pouch after you have charged with your blessings and prayers for three days and three nights
Tie the tiny pouch containing your grains of prosperity and place it in the hands of a 'Doll of Plenty' or tie them into a little broom or place them into your prosperity jar or add them to your garden bed and cover with soil to imbue your garden with blessings of prosperity and abundance.
Let your life-wheel turn and clearly show
The quiet places asking care to grow.
Let every color softly say
Where it longs to rest and stay.
Day 25 - December 24th: Welcoming Joy – Christmas Eve, 4th Day of Yule
If you pause to listen tonight, you might hear whispers of small joys eager to be born into this time of the year. Instead of rushing for perfect family functions and feeling the stress of the rush for performative dinners and shopping demands, pause, slow down, let your mind hear the heart, and smile as you remember that the gifts that really matter during these days of gift-giving traditions are those of loving hugs, warm comforting meals, safe home with your loved ones, laughter, singing, stories, memories, creativity.
Let these joys take the center of your holiday moments with your loved ones, family, and friends; while the rush, stress, and pressures to “perform” sit back and rest, even if just for a day or a week.
On this day in our journey, I invite you into the space that is rooted in an ancient Slavic tradition, Koleda (Kolyada), a celebration of the return of the Sun on the other side of the Winter Solstice moment. In older-than-old tales about Koledo, the moments on and just after the Winter Solstice were not just a natural/heavenly phenomenon, but also a very important time when ‘the death of the old sun’ and ‘the birth of the new sun’ that will lead us into the New Year were celebrated.
Traditions included many bright and lively rituals: making a larger fire, adding a bigger log to the hearth, gazing at the flames of the fire to divine the nature of the harvests in the coming year, singing, lighting candles, bringing evergreen branches into the home, making special charms and amulets, telling stories of the young bright Koledo and ancient gods and goddesses.
The return of the Sun was celebrated as it made the return of life possible, symbolizing rebirth, fertility, protection of homes, and renewal of strengths.
Our world feels very far away from theirs in time and space, yet the universal aspects of these ancient traditions still find resonance in our hearts and experiences. Today, I invite you to renew them in a way that is both ancient and completely new, just like the sun being reborn during these days.
Personal Ritual: Window of Joy Amulet
Prepare:
8 wooden sticks
Red yarn or ribbon
Small bells
Scraps of cotton fabric & thread
Evergreen sprigs, beads …
Create a woven sun/mandala:
Place two sticks as a cross, then add others to form an 8-spoked wheel
Wrap red yarn around the center, moving from spoke to spoke, forming a radiant ‘sun window.’
Add bells, herbs, and tiny ornaments that symbolize what you wish to invite: joy, health, creativity, prosperity, love.
Hang it somewhere in your home where it can be a joyful window through which blessings may enter.
A New-Old Story to Add to This Christmas Eve and the Open Door of the Heart
Every year, there comes a night so strongly carried, and longed for that a door opens quietly in one’s heart. Many feel it and call it Christmas Eve, but all feel it, even if they have different names for it. The Rose says the heart has many doors and knows. The bee hums the reminders that doors open by warmth and care.
On this night, the door of the heart gently opens, even in the most wounded ones. Houses breathe differently. Bread warms the air. Worry walks the rooms a few last rounds, then grows tired and sits down. Somewhere, a child tries to stay awake for mystery and slips instead into sleep, wonder of dream lands to find.
It is said that at midnight, the animals speak. Not because they suddenly gain words, but because the human heart has opened to listen and hear.
In one small barn, a donkey shifted and said, “She worries too much, but she sings when she feeds us.” A cow replied, “He pretends to be stern, but his hands are gentle every morning.” The cat chose silence.
Nearby, in the human house, candles were lit one by one. No one quite remembered who should begin, so someone simply said, “Shall we?” and the flame answered.
The old story was remembered. Hearts remember the story of this night in so many different ways, religions, and traditions, but all feel the joy of the new light being born.
A child arriving not in perfection, but in need. Light choosing the most ordinary shelter. Love entering where there was already care, breath, and caring hearts to keep watch.
Across the world, other lights are kindled, candles, lamps, small flames cupped in waiting hands. Different names, different stories, the same quiet questions, and the same quiet promises carried heart to heart:
You are not abandoned. The light knows the way of love.
What part of your heart have you kept closed because it feels too small, too tired, or too unready?
So, on this night of the open-hearted door, you do not need to explain the mystery. You may simply sit in the softened dark, listen to the house breathe around you, and let your heart offer its warm, compassionate welcome.
May there always be room in my heart for love, joy, compassion, and care to enter in the coming year.
The Window of Joy
May the window of joy swing open wide,
Let daylight in where worries hide.
Red thread remembers each laugh you’ve known,
Soft as a song in the marrow and bone.
Let bells call blessings through longest night,
Where sorrow sits near joy, both held in light.
May sun be woven in work and play,
Brighten the work that carries the day.
Let joy come home and stay each night.
Day 26 - December 25th: Christmas Day, 5th Day of Yule
This day carries the energy of birth and rebirth. The Day brings us to the 1st Day of Christmas, which can be a busy time of events and family functions. This year, I invite you to intentionally make it a day dedicated to family, love, joy, and comforts; to remember the story the day is rooted in; to feel strongly the timeless and universal aspects of what rays out into the world through its meaning and story; to re-read the story and to honor especially the presence and the lessons Mother Mary gifts and blesses with those who pay attention.
These universal and timeless aspects of the celebration of Christmas and the connection to Mother Mary’s blessings, can open our hearts to the streams that connect us to long-ago ancestors of our ancestors and flow glowingly into the realm of in-between and the lessons and magic of stories of our ancestors going back to the time older-than-old.
They knew firsthand and worked actively with the power of this season on both visible and invisible planes of being. From Winter Solstice into the early days of what we today count as the first days of January, our ancestors knew that the words spoken today become threads in the fabric of destiny.
By the fourth day after the solstice, all could see that the Sun is beginning to extend the length of daylight hours. Honoring the ancestral mothers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers, goddesses that watch over women, home, and children, as well as elemental beings who actively work to protect, support, and help them were honored in various ways long before today’s celebrations were created. Following those ancestral threads years ago led me to the ancient Slavic Beregini (in some traditions honored as female spirits and in some as a goddess Berehynia) seen as protectresses of the home, women, and children and associated with water and fertility. Remnants of old traditions and folk magic whisper of gatherings held in their honor in women’s circles of all generations with communities.
If you feel called to re-discover the energy and role of Beregini, a gentle place to open the door into your research and studies of their stories can be to sit quietly with a candle in your sacred or meditation space, to imagine yourself in a circle of women from your lineage and soul family, to feel in your heart love and connection to mother, grandmothers, sisters, grandmothers, and to whisper a prayer or a blessing of gratitude for the gift of their presence, their lessons, and love in our world.
Reconnecting to the Christmas Story
The child was born. The world seemed to barely notice, but those whose hearts were open heard, knew, and saw. Parents held the child in their arms feeling the whole universe inside their hearts and the light of all the creation in their hearts. Around the newborn child the Light gathered so intensely it will be felt and seen the world over for millennia to come.
The newborn child, held in mother’s arms, watched over by his father, kept company by the humble animal friends, and visited and blessed by open loving hearts, asks us in remembering of this story to:
- care for and heal what is luminous and fragile within us,
- ask ourselves how we treat what is seemingly small as holy in our world,
- check within ourselves how we welcome the humblest blessings in our days and where we fall prey to temptations to cast out what seems too humble in favor of a more important ‘guest’
- remember that every oak was once an acorn
- know that the greatest and most lasting changes begin with whispers over tea by candlelight or silent notes in a journal written in the sacred space of the evening
Each day then becomes a moment of honoring this birth when we open ourselves to seeing the potential, the healing gifts, and the greatest blessings held in often the tiniest, most humble, vulnerable, precious presences. The whole life and the whole world might change its direction if the door is kept open for this flow of loving compassion that sees the Light of Divinity in each and every being and in each and every connection and presence.
Fiber Magic: Laying Out the First Threads for a New Project
Cast on or lay out the design for a new project that feels like a seed for the year: a shawl, a pattern, a creative offering, a pair of socks, a coat, a gift … a project that will carry the intention and energy of health, harmony, joy, and prosperity.
Plan out the project, prepare or study a prepared pattern, feel the energy that it intensifies for you as you connect with it, visualize yourself working on it, expand your vision to visualize it finished, and finding its life in the world.
Collect the materials, the tools, arrange them with care, and bring them into your sacred space during this time of the year. Let them absorb your intentions, reflections, prayers, and blessings that will carry you throughout the Holy Nights. Prepare your hands and heart and mind to begin working on your special sacred project for the New Year in ways that will continually connect you and imbue your days with to the energy of health, harmony, joy, and prosperity.
Day 27 - December 26th: Sacred Foods and Household Blessings
Long ago, in a village stitched together by wooden fences and footpaths, an old woman made a pot of wheat. Not just any wheat. She simmered it slowly until it was soft but still held its shape, each kernel a tiny, patient source of sustenance, a gift from the fields of Goddess Demeter, Goddess Mokosh, and Goddess Ceres. With reverence and a whispered heart-centered prayer, she added honey, nuts, dried fruits.
As she stirred, she spoke softly: the names of those who had gone before, the names of those just born, the sorrows and joys of all that was, all that is, and all that is yet to be.
In the evening, she carried the bowl to the table and shared the blessing of these divine nourishing gifts with her loved one, family and friends who were there for the evening. As they tasted the sweet deliciousness, they felt a pause in the room filled with a palpable presence of ancestors, joys of the harvest, gratitude for the hands that had grown and ground and cooked. The pause was very brief, just a moment of timelessness when all felt the invisible fully remembering that all are connected and one; one’s joy is everyone’s joy; the biggest blessing of abundance is that it tends to ripple outward.
Sacred bowls of sweet cooked grain connect me so deeply to my mother’s joys and gifts. Years ago, I followed their threads seeking to find their earliest origins. What they taught me was lifechanging, deeply transforming, and yet eternally magickal as the further back in time I followed them. My ancestral threads took me to traditions, rituals, and magick focused on family and home surrounding the preparation and sharing of ‘kuvano zito’ or ‘kutia’, but the threads rayed out in other parts of the world creating a marvelous network of reverence and timeless rituals that connect the grains, the spirt, the joy, the family, and the gratitude and hope for the coming new cycle of traveling around the sun. On this day of our magickal winter journey here, I share with you one of my favorite ways to prepare this special magickal treat and hope to inspire you to follow the threads of grain blessings in your own ancestral traditions. When you do, come back to our Groups web site area to share, to inspire and help the magick rebirth in new ways, ever brighter.
Wheat – fertility, wealth
Honey – sweetness, joy, abundance
Nuts – health, vitality, wisdom
Dried fruits – prosperity, surprise blessings
May we be healthy, prosperous, and richly nourished in the year to come.
Before serving this sweet treat to your loved ones, take a spoonful outside to your garden, place it in a central garden bed, mixing it with the soil, bring to life in your heart the gratitude for the blessings of health, love, and prosperity wishing them to ripple out to all creatures dwelling on piece of land you tend and care for,
May there always be more than enough food, warmth, and joy for all living beings who live, play, and visit here.
Share the treat with all in your home feeling the gifts of gratitude for all they do, share, teach, and heal with their presence in your life.
May your home always have plenty of what is needed, may there always be plenty to share, and may joy be one of its daily staples.
May health, joy, and prosperity bless all.
Day 28 - December 27th:
Love, Health & Prosperity; 7th Day of Yule
Today’s story curls up small to sleep under your pillow. (click to read)
Once, when people still spoke more easily to household spirits, there lived a woman who had had enough of floating wishes.
“They’re all over the room,” she told her friend one winter afternoon, gesturing irritably at the air. “Look at them. ‘Someday I’ll write…’ ‘Someday I’ll leave…’ ‘Someday I’ll start…’ They’re like dandelion fluff. No wonder nothing changes.”
Her friend, who lived fully in the seen and the unseen, laughed, “Then give your wishes a place to sleep and lovingly release them into the Universe wishing well deep.”
So that night, the woman cleared a corner of her table and assembled the most interesting bundle: a pinch of grain, a cube of sugar, a coin, a red rosebud from a bush that refused to accept it was winter, a scrap of parchment, and a bit of red thread.
She sat by candlelight and considered each one. The grain she held and thought of plenty: plenty to eat, plenty to share, plenty to free her from choices made purely from lack.
The sugar she rolled between her fingers and whispered, “Let there be sweetness and let joy be part of each of my days.”
The coin she pressed into her palm until the edges left a mark. “Let money be a tool, not a master. Let there be flow that is generous and gracefully abundant.”
The rosebud she cradled like something sacred. “Let my relations with others, with myself, with the world be fully alive, renewed, and both supporting and freeing.”
Then she wrapped the items in parchment, tied her bundle with the red thread, and held the little bundle to her chest.
“This is my year,” she whispered to herself, not as a demand but as a promise. “I will act. I will participate. I will accept and with gratitude share all of the blessings flowing to me.”
She tucked the bundle under her pillow and went to sleep.
Did the bundle change reality? Not like lightning. In the morning, the bills were still on the table. Her relationships were still complex. Her body still ached in the same familiar places.
But something subtle had shifted: she had declared herself an active participant open to receiving, ready for creating, generous in sharing.
In the days that followed, she found herself making loving, brave choices. The bundle stayed under her pillow, a little anchor for her intentions. At the end of the year, she took it out, smiled, and thought, “These are my values. This is what I will prioritize. Help is welcome. I’ll do my part. I share the blessings generously.”
She remembered that her friend told her it is important to release the wishes into the universe deep, so she placed them in the flame of her fireplace and felt a tiny moment of celebration seeing her wishes spark in the flame and feeling the joy of them coming true.
Personal Ritual: Three-Wishes Bundle
You need: white paper, red pen, white candle, bread or grain, a sweet, a banknote, a red flower (or petal), red & green thread.
Bread/grain – plenty & sustenance
Sweet – joy & sweetness
Banknote – material support
Red Flower – love and blossoming
Light the candle.
With the red pen, write three wishes: one for love, one for health, one for prosperity. (They must be your wishes, not for others.)
Read them aloud and close with, “For the highest good of all. So it is. Thank you for these gifts and blessings.”
Place on the paper: bread or grain, a sweet, a banknote, a flower, or a petal.
Fold into a bundle, tie with red and green thread, and seal with three knots.
Keep this under your pillow for 7 nights (until the night of Jan 1).
On the night of Jan 1, burn the bundle, feeling that your three wishes have already come true, and prepare to welcome them into your manifested reality.
May your deepest, truest wishes be met in ways that honor your soul.
Day 29 - December 28th:
8th Day of Yule; Fourth Day of Christmas
Story: The Wheel in the Prince’s Hands
Beyond seven mountains and across seven blue seas, there lay a kingdom hidden from hurried travelers. Those who found it called it the Turning Realm, for here nothing was fixed forever, not sorrow, not fortune, not even destiny.
In the heart of that realm lived a Wisdom-Keeper Queen. She ruled not by decree but by listening. Her animal companion was a white doe who moved between moments without leaving a sound. Her tree-friend was an ancient linden, whose blossoms remembered every promise ever spoken beneath its shade. Her power place was a round chamber open to the sky, where the sun and stars could look directly into the human world.
On the Ninth Night of Winter, when the sun pauses and wonders whether to return, the Queen prepared a gift for her son, the Prince, who was to set out at dawn on his life’s great quest. He would travel the old roads to gather the blessings and mistakes of his ancestors and bring them back transformed, lighter, kinder, fit for a brighter and freer kingdom.
The Prince’s companion was a strong, brave silver wolf, keeper of memory of paths unseen. His tree-friend was a young oak, strong enough to endure any storm while keeping within its heart wisdom of eons of time. His power place was the Hill of Seven Roads, where choices gathered and patiently waited for the right time to be chosen.
That night, while the castle slept, the Queen lit a single candle. She took smooth sticks and crossed them whispering, “Always standing at the crossing of what was and what might be.” She wrapped the sticks in white cloth, “… remembering everything, and judging nothing.” Then, she layered scraps of colored fabric, “Life wraps us as we prepare.” She left the doll’s face blank, “… staying open in heart and mind, and generous in deed.” Into the doll’s hands she placed a small ring, “The Wheel turns roads when feet feel stuck.” Last, she wrapped and tied the red wool thread to secure the doll in all places, “… life-force … protection … love that knows how to nourish while staying free … strength to persevere and successful be.”
She named the doll Spyridon, and breathed into it her blessing:
Guard my son’s travels in light and joy. Loosen whatever binds him unfairly. Prosper his dealings with land and coin. When roads close, help him see the paths that open for him.
At dawn, the Prince sat with the Queen. The wolf watched. The oak far away stirred its leaves.
“This will not walk for you,” the Queen said, placing Spyridon in his hands. “It will not choose your path. It will remind you that your hands are on the wheel and that you have the wisdom, the courage, and all you need to turn the wheel and steer your journey.”
The Prince set out on his quest. At thresholds and crossroads, in moments of doubt and fatigue, he held the small faceless figure and found in his heart and mind clarity of knowing what needed to be done, the path he needed to take, and a choice that was right even when it did not seem to be at first sight. And the world responded. Not with thunder, but with openings, a door unlatched, a debt erased, a road bending just enough.
Thus, the old stories say: Spyridon does not change fate. He teaches one how to stay awake to wisdom and courage to participate in creating his destiny.
Should you ever craft such a doll, wrapped by hand, bound with care, left open to becoming, remember that you are not making a toy. You are agreeing to walk with the year itself, to turn when turning is needed, and to remember that even in winter, the sun knows how to return.
Day 30 - December 29th
Personal Ritual:
Destiny Braid & Harmonizing our Inner, Outer, and Spiritual Realities
Destiny does not have to be a fixed script. When we participate in life, it can become more like a braid of intention, feeling, and action woven together. Tonight we braid fate. Not as rigid destiny, but as a weaving of energy and action, intention and embodiment, where inner and outer life move together as one braid.
6 ribbons, each about 3 m long, in 3 colors (two of each color), a large candle
Light the candle and name clearly what you wish to bring into your life this year.
Tie all ribbons together at one end in a knot, saying your wish aloud.
Begin braiding:
Each pair of the same-colored ribbons represents your intention on two levels:
Spiritual / Divine Planes
Soul / Inner World, emotional state
Material / Outer World manifestation in the physical world
As you braid:
Holy nights, the sun is born,
My destiny is being woven.
I weave the (color) strand,
I call my fate to life:
I weave it straight
I bring to life (your wish in one sentence).
When about 10 cm of ribbon remains at the end, tie another knot:
May my destiny braid hold my paths in grace
Inner and outer life weaving one steady lace.
May chosen knots, not accidents, mark my way
And my braid reminds me of God’s Light within each day.
May the candle at its center guard my name
And may I greet the year with my heart’s brightly burning flame.
Place the braid around the burning candle for the night, then store it somewhere private. When your wish is fulfilled, burn the ribbons with gratitude.
Day 31 - December 30th : Creating Joy - 11th Yule Night; Sixth Day of Christmas
Mandarins are winter’s secret. Small, round vessels of stored July. When the world is gray and the garden has gone inward, someone places a glowing orange planet into your palm. You peel it, and light escapes. Oil sparks into the air like laughter you didn’t know you needed. The segments part themselves politely, like petals of a patient flower.
In one family, long ago and also just last year, the matriarch invited, “Let’s make an invitation for joy; for family joy and celebration of remembered happiness. Joy is not frivolous; it is a powerful spell.”
She bought only three. Not a basket. Not abundance for show. Three mandarins, chosen for their weight, their perfume, their quiet readiness.
That evening, she gathered everyone into the kitchen. The mandarins rested on the table like miniature suns awaiting instruction.
“Take one,” she said. “Warm it. Let your hands remember what they know.”
She asked them to think not of triumph or conquest, but of a moment of clean happiness: a night when joy needed no permission, when pride did not step on anyone else, when satisfaction arrived softly and stayed.
They laughed. They complied.
And you could see it; shoulders unknotted, eyes gentled, people traveling inward to a beach at dusk, a long road humming under tires, a quiet library where a book found them at exactly the right hour.
When the memories had ripened, she spoke again: “Now speak over the fruit. Not for things, but for ways of being.”
Let our home know peace.
Let our work be alive.
Let laughter return often and without apology.
Some words were spoken aloud. Some were whispered inwardly. All were heard.
Then she said, simply, “Peel.”
The scent that rose was scandalous. Citrus misted fingers, air, even the old curtains. Tiny suns burst without sound, and the room remembered it had a body.
“Share,” she said.
No one ate their own first. Segments were placed into each other’s hands, a quiet communion, passed palm to palm.
You too may make Mandarins of Good Fortune with oranges, clementines, even humble lemons. The magic is not in the species, but in your own heart.
Personal Ritual: Mandarins of Joy and Good Fortune
You’ll need: 3 mandarins (or clementines)
Mandarins can be powerful symbols as little suns you can hold in your hand.
Warm each fruit in your hands.
Remember a past celebration where you truly felt joy and ease with your family or loved ones.
As this golden fruit drank light of the Sun,
so may joy at my hearth be spun.
May all who dwell here thrive and be well,
may our work take root, rise, and swell,
and may our fortunes, bright and deep,
by threefold grace grow joy to keep.
3. Peel the mandarins, share them with your household.
Wrap the peels in white paper and compost with gratitude.
Day 32 - December 31st : New Year's Eve; 12th Yule Night
In some cities, it’s sequins and fireworks and champagne and strangers shouting into the midnight air. In others, it’s a log fire and people in slippers doing their best to stay awake. In many hearts, it’s a tangle of hope and dread: Will this year be better? Will I be better?
Yet, in the kingdom where fairy tales meet fiber threads, on the New Year’s table a spread of small, ring shaped bread rolls is found connected into a garland of wishes on a red cord.
The night before they were threaded as wishes into this special garland necklace: for the home, for the animals in the home, for family who is near, for family who is far, for friends near and far, for plants and the food, for teachers and guides, for the trees … for … health, and courage, money and giving, belonging and charging forward into new ventures … for…
On the New Year’s Day, Thank You's are felt in each heart, a knowing that all is as it shall be fills the room, and the ring shaped breads are shared and eaten as for a moment all feel that they have all they need to make many wishes come true for self and others in their world.
Personal Ritual: Wishes Come True
You need: red wool yarn and 8 ring shaped bread rolls (or small bagels).
Ring shaped bread - the Sun in edible form
Red cord / yarn - the currents of life
Light your Yule log/candles,
Spinners of Threads, Heavenly Mother and Father, Ancestors dear,
I kindle Koleda’s flame, and call the Sun here.
As grain turns to bread by hand, hearth, and flame,
My true wishes grow roots, and each find their name,
They awaken into the world, steady and whole,
Warmly weaving their gifts into the story of my days and my soul.
Thread the red cord / yarn through each bread ring, naming a wish for each one.
Tie the ends to form a necklace,
My word stands fast, faithful and true,
Wishes I speak, with grace I act to carry through.
Hang the necklace on the tree overnight. Share the bread with others on New Year’s Day (or the following day), feeling gratitude in knowing that your wishes come true manyfold, bringing you plenty to share and joyfully bless others with.
Day 33 - January 1st: Happy New Year!
Story: The Coin in the Glass
The first morning of a new year is often quieter than the last night of the old.
In one small room, sunlight slants across a table where a single wine glass sits, not quite empty. At the bottom of the glass lies a coin.
The woman who lives there smiles when she sees it. She remembers dropping it in the night before, at the exact moment the clock ticked Midnight. While others shouted and kissed and texted, she had quietly slid the coin into the bubbling drink and whispered, “Help me remember that I am worth more than I think.”
The coin is not huge. It will not buy a house. Its power is not in its monetary weight, but in what it has been asked to carry: the intention of being worthy of good things in the coming year.
She fishes it out, dries it carefully, and places it in a small cloth bag she keeps in her wallet. It will live there all year, a tiny, private amulet.
Whenever she reaches for money, to pay a bill, to buy a treat, to donate, her fingers will brush against the bag. She remembers that in old rituals her grandmother told her about, twelve banknotes were rolled together and tied with golden ribbon, hung on the tree, then moved to the door, then finally spent at the year’s end in a gesture of release.
You can do this in miniature. Choose a coin or note that feels symbolically right, not necessarily the largest, but one you’re willing to treat as a partner instead of a burden. Hold it on this first day and speak over it:
May my relationship with money this year be sane, generous, and grounded. May I have plenty to thrive and to share.
Then tuck it somewhere it will bump into you regularly.
This won’t bypass systemic pressure or magically erase responsibilities. It will, however, nudge your nervous system toward a different posture: less desperate grasping, more conscious choosing. It will remind you, again and again, that you are in a relationship with the material world, and like any relationship, it benefits from clarity and kindness.
The first day of the year doesn’t need you to be perfect. It simply needs one small, intentional gesture that says:
I am here. I am participating. I strive to always treat my life and my resources as blessings in every moment.
The coin in the glass smiles and jingles its agreement.
Old Folk Magic wisdom says what you speak and do now echoes through the year.
Thoughts, words, and rituals are said to strongly imprint the year ahead. Choose your focus carefully. You are laying foundation stones.
Here are a few simple, very old folk magic sparkling memories to inspire you in creating your own personal rituals with a sparkle of fairy tale enchantment.
Blessings on the New Year! May it be the most amazing, healthy, prosperous year yet!
Wealth Coin Charm
At midnight (or close), toss a silver coin into your festive drink and, in your heart, ask for support in all forms of abundance.
After drinking, place the coin in a small cloth bag in your wallet for the year.
Money Roll Spell
Take 12 identical banknotes, roll them, tie with golden or yellow ribbon in a bow.
Say a blessing inviting honest abundance and stability.
Seal the knot with candle wax.
Hang this bundle on the tree overnight, then move it to your entrance on Jan 1.
On the last day of the year, this bundle is spent with gratitude.
Magic Food
Prepare or bless festive food with affirmations like:
I gratefully receive and spread health, love, and good fortune.
This food carries harmony and joy.
This food carries health and wealth.
I cook blessings into this meal.
Imagine the water within the food carrying your words into every cell.
Candle-Circle Purification
Place 8 candles in a circle (safely!), and symbolically step through or over the circle three times, visualizing all old heaviness burning away.
Fiber Magick
Wear your new wool socks tonight if you haven’t before, with a small coin tucked under each heel as a nod to a prosperous year ahead.
Day 34 - January 2nd
Older than old magickal threads of traditions at first sight seem to be weaving separate tapestries, but those who are open to seeing the luminous weaving of the streaming threads begin to notice how they come together at times inviting us to expand out view and see that all of those seemingly different images are a part of a large, inverse vast, tapestry more marvelous than one can ever grasp in a narrow focus on one thread.
One of those meeting points are the first days after the 13th night of Yule, the days after New Year’s Day, the last four of the twelve Holy Nights.
To bring these threads to life in personal ways, I love spending these days as close as possible to what heart is calling into doing and being. This year, it calls for harmony between creativity and rest, movement and connection, beauty in little things and vastness of gratitude for them.
What do you hear your heart calling for today?
Personal Ritual: Charm of Happiness
Choose a small figurine or a crystal or a rock or a plant that symbolizes protection or blessing for the year, plus a gold-colored candle.
Light a yellow or golden colored candle. Cup the figurine in your hands and imbue it with your own version of:
May health walk with me day by day,
May gratitude light up my way.
Let this charm remind my mind and heart,
Each breath is blessing from the start.
Keep this figure somewhere where you will notice it often throughout the year.
Day 35 - January 3rd:
Heart & Hands Remember When Words Fall Short
Slowly, the deep stillness and inner intensity of the Holy Nights begin to soften. What once turned us inward now loosens its grip, inviting our reflections to step back into the world as gratitude, kindness, and quiet acts of care. This sharing need not be wide or impressive. Let it be small, sincere, and rich with warmth; measured not by numbers, but by presence.
Today, remember: none of us walk this world alone, even when it feels that way. Reach toward at least one soul with a genuine message of love, of thanks, of remembrance, of reconnection. A few honest words, offered without hurry, can become a bridge strong enough to cross great distances.
Felt, knit, or stitch a small heart, holding someone specific gently in your thoughts as you work. Pour your unconditional love into each movement of the hands. Even if the heart is never given, even if no words are spoken, the act itself carries weight. Creating with focused care weaves an invisible thread between you.
This is fiber magick at its quietest and most faithful: a soft, steady healing; especially for those we miss deeply, those who are far away, or those who now dwell on the other side of the veil. What is made with love does not disappear. It simply learns new ways to be felt.
As holy hush begins to fade,
The night loosens what silence made.
From hidden depths, from quiet keep,
Warm thoughts awake and wish to leap.
No soul walks lonely, thread by thread,
The hands know truths the lips haven’t said.
Each loop a hope, each pull a care,
Love skips the distance, light as air.
The hands grow still, the thread may roam,
What’s made in love always finds its home.
Day 36 - January 4th: Visioning Day & Holy Night 11
Personal Ritual:
Vision does not always arrive with thunder. Often it comes like a soft guest, sitting quietly near your work until you notice.
In your sacred space, light a violet or orange candle, relax and center with three slow breaths, open your inner eye gently, and ask your heart of hearts, ‘Show me an image of what my soul longs to create this year.’
In your journal, sketch (or, if it will be a fiber magic project, swatch) your sacred project of this year. The project aligned with the energy of your vision and in harmony with your deeper calling.
May your sight be clear, a lantern held ahead,
Yet soft enough to gently flow where life has led.
Story: The Day of Hidden Lights
Our journey is taking us now into the days and nights where the holiday season is beginning to wrap up. Depending on your personal traditions, you might be feeling that the holiday season is ‘over’ fully, but you see that there are still some lights in windows, holiday trees that are still up, and you hear and love being invited to a few more celebrations of traditions your friends follow. The days begin to feel like a liminal gap in the realm of in-between.
In the kingdom behind seven mighty mountains and across the seven blue seas, these days are called the Days of Hidden Lights. In homes throughout the kingdom, families would give each other small candles to hide. Each household member would hide one small candle somewhere in the house (safely) where it will be found by someone else when least expected, while washing laundry, vacuuming the house, dusting shelves, sweeping the porch, etc. The rule is to be sure to pause when you find the candle, feel and hear it remind you that, ‘You are loved. You belong. You matter, and you are seen.’
When they would find one of the hidden lights, they would light it, pause with its glow to think of one thing they appreciate in that moment about self, someone else, or the world; extinguish its flame with gratitude, and then hide it somewhere else and go on with their day.
Some days, it would happen that several little candles would be glowing in various rooms of the house. Even without long talks about it, without photos of their glow, all of the home knew and felt the nourishment of these bright reminders.
Day 37 - January 5th: Story of Standing on the Threshold
The threshold of the twelfth holy night has always made storytellers restless.
By now, the sequence of special days has lengthened into a kind of narrative. The characters have been introduced: mothers and shepherds, witches and bears, cats and saints, stars and candles. On this night, it is as if they all gather backstage, peeking through the curtain, waiting to see how the first chapter of the year will begin.
Christian traditions mark this as the Eve of Epiphany, the night before wise travelers arrive with gifts at the stable. Older-than-old customs treat it as a time when glimpses of future can be caught in mirrors, in bowls of water, in darkened windows.
Underneath all that is a simple sensation, a threshold.
In a small house, a woman stands with one foot in the kitchen and one in the hallway. She has been feeling “in between” for months now: between jobs, between identities, between who she was and who she might be. It is uncomfortable. Tonight, the mood of the world matches her inner landscape.
So she decides to make of it a personal rite.
She sweeps the threshold carefully, muttering, “Out with the dust of old stories.” She lays down a small strip of cloth, nothing fancy, just a clean dish towel, as if for a distinguished guest. Then she places on one side of the doorway a bowl of water and on the other a lit candle.
“Here is what I know,” she says to no one in particular. “Behind me is the life I’ve lived so far. In front of me is the life I cannot yet see clearly. Somewhere above and around me are all the helpers, visible and invisible, who have brought me this far. I stand between.”
She dips her fingers in the water, touches her forehead, her chest, her hands. Not in any official sign, just her own little anointing. “For clear thinking, open heart, and good work,” she murmurs. Then she steps over the cloth. There is no thunderclap. The candle does not flare. The room on the other side is the same kitchen, with the same stack of dishes, the same chairs. And yet… she feels different. Not transformed, exactly, but more deliberate. She has told herself:
I am choosing to cross into the next phase. I may not control what happens, but I am not being dragged. I am choosing my paths and my steps on those paths.
Around the world, in churches and living rooms, people tell the story of wise ones following a star to a child. Epiphany is “a sudden insight,” but the journey to get there is long and usually confusing. The wise ones spend more time on the road than at the manger.
Twelfth Night says, Even when you have not yet arrived, honor the point you are at as holy ground of your own journey in becoming.
If today you feel lost, you are in good company. The mapmakers of old shaded island-like spaces with notes like “Here be dragons.” They did not yet know what lay there, but they admitted their existence.
You can do the same in your journal, on a scrap of paper, or with your own floor: mark the threshold you are on. Name, as best you can, what you are leaving and what you are hoping to step into. Clean it. Bless it. Step.
The dishes will still need washing. The dragons will still need to be faced. But somewhere inside, a strong voice of your heart of hearts will be heard guiding you on your path.
Personal Ritual – Honoring this Point of the Journey:
Becoming is in many ways a journey, an unfolding of what you become when you answer the true calling of your heart of hearts. Today, I invite you to practice listening, to slow down, feel and clarify what it is that you are creating and whether it is in harmony with the true calling of your destiny.
In your sacred space, by a warm glow of a blue or violet candle, relax your breathing and your body, center your awareness in your heart space, and let the words flow out without being censored by the critiques of your mind.
Start writing. This year, my heart guides me and my deeds generously connect me to the path of becoming … … … - let the words flow from your heart. Do not think about them, just let them find their places on the paper of your journal.
When you feel that all of the words ready to become visible have been written down, pause, feel, and spend a few minutes with your favorite fiber project or watercolor painting or pencil drawing or … in your sacred space. Let the colors and the work of your hands, guided by your heart, unfold for a little while. When you feel ready, read what you wrote in your journal. Let what you read be received by your open mind and gentle heart, and let any questions that arise dissipate into the clouds that will take them where they will return as answers most gentle and most clear when they are most needed.
May your becoming throughout this year be steady, generous, filled with loving kindness, and deeply rooted in who you truly are.
Day 38 - January 6th
In the kingdom behind seven misty mountains and seven blue seas, this day is about water. People go to streams, rivers, lakes, and the sea to bless them. Beneath the rituals is a timeless knowing that water remembers.
It remembers the clouds it once was, the glaciers, the tears, the baths, the storms. It flows through everything that lives, carrying information and minerals and stories. When we bless water, we are, in a way, blessing the entire circulatory system of the planet.
Today, we are reminded of the living water, its blessings, and the ways in which it carries Divine Light of Love within itself.
Hold up your glass of water to the sky and visualize the vast cycle it has traveled through all its forms and through all its states in order to reach you. Whisper your loving gratitude to your water for bringing you nourishment and for washing away all that you ask it to help you clear away every day. Then, share a bit with one of your plants and drink slowly and mindfully the rest, remembering that everything is interconnected.
The water will go on its way, back into the great circulation. It will carry a trace of your whisper with it. Somewhere, a river will feel the ripples of your blessing and gratitude.
Light a candle and with awareness placed in your heart center:
I feel and see the star within me, I follow its guidance with courage.
Sit for a few breaths in quiet recognition.
Stitch a tiny star, embroidered on cloth, knitted into a row, or drawn on a tag you’ll keep near to remind you of your inner star.
May your inner star guide you even when all outer lights seem dim.
Day 39 - January 7th: A closing blessing for our Winter Magick Journey + an invitation into what comes next
For thirty-nine days, we walked the realm of in-between together:
candles and thresholds, winter witches and gentle bears, stars of harmony and wreaths that remember, coins in bread, water that carries prayers, and thread that remembers hands. Some days were bright and simple. Some days were tender and heavy. Some days you may have only skimmed a story while life asked more of you. And some days you may have stopped long enough to feel it, that hush in the ribs, that soft “yes” in the heart, that sense that the world is still enchanted… and that you still belong to it. If you did nothing else, if you only read, know this: attention is a kind of magic. To notice is to participate. Every time you paused for a candle, a blessing, a tiny ritual, a stitch, a breath… you were quietly choosing a life that is awake.
If this Winter Magick Journey fed something real in you. If it reminded you that stories still carry medicine, then I want to invite you into the next rhythm of The Rose and The Bee:
Monthly YouTube Livestreams: Magick of Fairy Tales
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Follow on TikTok: @the_roseandthebeeShort, supportive weekly lives for true beginners: foundational skills in knitting, crochet, and felting, woven with gentle enchantment.
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Our email circle is where I send the most reliable updates: class announcements, livestream reminders, seasonal rituals, and new offerings.
🐝 Invite a friend into the circle
If someone in your life needs more beauty, steadiness, and story-magic, invite them to join our email circle of magick makers. You already know: the circle grows one warm hearth at a time.
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Copyright Notice for the Blog Page
Copyright © 2025 The Rose and The Bee – Magical School of Fiber Arts. All rights reserved.
All original writing, stories, artwork, photographs, and fiber-magick content on this page are the intellectual property of The Rose and The Bee and Daniela Sales, unless otherwise credited.
You may:
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This work is offered as a living thread of inspiration. Please treat it as you would a handmade garment: with respect, warmth, and honesty about where it came from.
🌲 Cultural Origins & Respectful Use Disclaimer
Many of the stories, rituals, and images on this page are rooted in old, shared human traditions:
Slavic and Balkan winter customs
European Yule and Solstice lore
Scottish “first-footing” and other threshold traditions
Christian Christmas practices from various traditions
Echoes of Jewish, African diasporic, and Buddhist winter observances (Chanukkah, Kwanzaa principles, Mahayana New Year, Epiphany / Theophany)
These threads are:
Partly ancestral to me (Balkan/Slavic roots),
Partly pan-European and global,
And partly reimagined through my own creative, magickal, fiber-art lens.
I offer these retellings as:
Homage, not ownership
Personal, poetic interpretations, not official doctrines
A bridge between ancient folk wisdom and modern family life
I do not claim exclusive rights over any traditional practice, symbol, or festival named here. Those belong to the peoples, lineages, and lands from which they arose.
I do claim copyright only over:
My original wording
My specific story retellings
My unique ritual framings and fiber-magick applications
If you recognize these traditions as part of your own spiritual or cultural heritage, you are warmly invited to:
Adapt what resonates in a way that remains faithful to your lineage,
Name and honor your sources when you share,
And use this material as a starting point, not a replacement, for deeper study and connection.
If you belong to a tradition referenced here and feel something is misrepresented, please reach out to share with care.I am committed to listening, learning, and revising where needed, so that this work can be a weaving of respect, beauty, and integrity across many paths.
Day 1 story was just what I needed to turn the trajectory of my winter in the right direction. During a walk near woods we came across this hallow tree and its little friend.
Thank you for waking up our senses to all that is around.