Every December, as I begin decorating my home for Christmas, something ancient stirs within me. It rises quietly—like a memory carried through generations, settling into the pine-scented air of my living room.

When winter settles across the land, and the world grows quiet under blankets of snow, the Capricorn witch awakens in her deepest power. This is her season—the time of long nights, ancestral

Winter is the season the ancients revered most deeply—not because it was gentle, but because it revealed the marrow of life. It is the season of endurance, spirit, shadow, quiet magic, and

December arrives like a soft-spoken guest—quiet, unassuming, yet carrying an ancient wisdom we feel in our bones. The last leaves have long surrendered to the wind, the air thins with frost, and

December is a month woven from contradictions: the darkest nights and the brightest lights, the coldest winds and the warmest gatherings, the endings of a year and the early whisper of beginnings. Ancient