Songs of Autumn, Harvests of Blood

samhain blood harvest the obah woman whispers emma kathryn the house of twigs thot witch witchcraft

Darkness pushes against the glass and the wind wails in the eaves, making the panes rattle. The night beckons. It calls to something inside of me and sings to the very depths of my soul, making the witch blood itch in my veins.

It would be easy to go. Easy to slip from the house, shrouded in darkness with only the sickle moon for light; easy to slip into the forest or dance on the blasted heath with the spirits swirling. Already the veil is gossamer thin and the land is alive with spirit. Can you feel it?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to slip away from the grind of what we call ‘real life’, the one that feels less so, where we hide ourselves away, and disguise ourselves with masks and roles; where our wild selves are caged by the rules rigidly imposed on us by a society that fears our wildness. If you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself declawed and toothless or bridled and saddled, your spirit broken, all that you once were a faded memory that can only be felt deep in the bones rather than recalled or brought to mind.

Yes, on nights such as this, in the cold and dark lonely hours where the black of night feels like a familiar companion and the silvered glint of the moon makes the shadows of the woods seem so darkly alluring, it would indeed be easy to relinquish ourselves to it. But there is still work that must be done, here, in this place, on the edges and in between. Haven’t we witches always been liminal things, walkers of the way between worlds? 

The wheel ever turns and Samhain approaches, the blood harvest looms and there is work that must be done.

And so in this darkness, as I whisper the names of those who came before, feel my blood, their blood, rush in response. I light the candles and beseech Papa that he might open the way between worlds. In silence I toil, dining with my beloved dead before dancing my way to the crossroads and then the cemetery, my pockets loaded with goods for the guardians of those places; sweets, cigars and pepper hot rum. And then, onwards to those wild spaces where no headstones mark the dead where but where instead they are celebrated alongside life. Here death and life are close companions, consorts if you will. In these places, the dead can be felt in the softness of the leaf littered ground, can be breathed in, the sweet scent of decay.

In these spaces, the liminal and the wild, the othered and oppressed, the truths of the blood harvest cannot be denied. The stars burn coldly in the dark depths of the night sky where we scry the truth of all that we are and all we may become. There is no comfort there, only truth.

Here at the blood harvest, we must take the sharpened blade and cut away those things that hold us back, that no longer serve, that instead only hinder. It will not be easy, and pain, there well may be, for the shackles we make for ourselves are the tightest, and oh how we take comfort from those locks and chains we swaddle ourselves in. Yes, the work of the blood harvest is not easy but those things worth doing are very rarely easy or comfortable, for iron sharpens iron and in this way we too must sharpen ourselves.

The wheel turns and Samhain approaches.

 As the darkness of the night  presses against your window, seeking your wild witch soul, at the time of the thinning veil, what will you cut away, what will you reap?

And so to my brothers and sisters of the arte, to my fellow seekers and magick makers, to you all I bid a blessed Samhain and the happiest of Halloweens. May we all dance with our beloved dead!

  • Author Posts
My name is Emma Kathryn, my path a mixture of non-Wiccan Traditional British Witchcraft and Obeah, a blend that represents my heritage. A Devotee of Hekate, my witchcraft is what is needed when needed. I live in the middle of England with my partner, two teenage sons and two crazy dogs.
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My name is Emma Kathryn, my path a mixture of non-Wiccan Traditional British Witchcraft and Obeah, a blend that represents my heritage. A Devotee of Hekate, my witchcraft is what is needed when needed. I live in the middle of England with my partner, two teenage sons and two crazy dogs.
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