Thresholds, Returning Light, & the Quiet Magic of Beginning

Yesterday felt like a threshold day.

My website opened quietly on Solstice Eve — as intentional as lighting a candle and placing it in a windowsill before night settles in. And today, on Winter Solstice itself, we stepped fully into the day. We let it meet us where we were — exhausted, grateful, and in need of a really long hike in the woods after fourteen weeks of endless crafting and vending, deep grief held at bay, and weather that had kept us from our religious forest meanderings.

We walked quietly for a long while in the winter woods. Cold air. Frozen ground. Wind sharp enough to wake the body and numb your toes. At one point, we stopped, closed our eyes, tilted our faces toward the sun, and just stood there — letting the returning light touch our skin, and all the lightcodes wash over us.

It felt like deep medicine. Some people go to church, and I go to the forest to commune with Mother Earth, to bring my autonomic nervous system back online, and release all that needs letting go. 

A much-needed dose of Vitamin D, yes — but so much more than that. A remembering in the body that the light has not forgotten us. That our inner rhythms are intrinsically linked with the sky, too, the sunlight, even when everything looks dormant on the surface.

The forest was quiet, but not empty.

There were new green shoots miraculously pushing through the dark cold earth — first day of Winter, not Spring — and yet, when we slowed down and really looked, there were tiny buds on branches. The potential of new leaves already awaiting Spring's whisperings, slow and steady, as Winter moves through, clearing all that is done. The whole forest felt energetically alive, humming beneath the stillness. Resting, but awake.

On our drive home, I took the long way back, so we could pass by the Susquehanna — massive, wide, and as powerful as ever. Huge swaths of the river still flowed freely, dark water moving with purpose, while other large masses had frozen into magnificent, sculptural formations. Ice islands suspended in the middle with rushing water on either side. Jagged edges shaped and reshaped by 25-50 mph winds and bone-chilling cold, ice slowly reaching from the shore's edge to the center of the river and onward up toward the sky, sparkling like a million crystals, blinding in their brilliance.

It was otherworldly and breathtaking.

Movement and stillness existing side by side.
Ebb and Flow.
Rest, then contraction.
I sat with the lesson this first Winter day offered and found a little voice inside, whisper, it's time to write.

Last night, before all of that — with a bit of resistance to another ending, and wishing that the work of creating our booth, vending, and packing out didn’t so often land on our birthdays and important holidays — we completed something important.

We packed out and energetically cleared our booth at Mt. Hope, officially and intentionally closing the PARF season and the Yule Faire. It was the first time in fifteen years of vending our art all across the country that we were blessed with a building. And it was monumental.

It was, hands down, the most beautiful space we have ever curated.

That building became a portal — into our art, our creativity, our devotion. We were welcomed so generously. Supported so fully. We made new friends, met so many new souls, shared stories, laughter, tears, and long conversations that felt more like remembering each other than meeting for the first time.

One young man mentioned that often when he enters a shop, the shopkeeper is standing behind a counter — but in our space, it felt more like a living room, homey, with me comfortably seated on my antique chaise lounge, chatting, laughing, and ringing folks up for their purchases. It was such a gift to be seen and appreciated for how we do things differently — for staying true to who we are and the way we hold space.

The connection in that space was palpable. Alive. Sacred.

In many ways, it felt like a long-held blessing finally arriving.

Astral Chrysalis Designs — our fifteen-year lovechild of a business — was given room to truly stretch its wings. And Rose Witch Apothecary — my baby, quietly tended for over twenty-four years as I’ve grown, studied, practiced, and listened — emerging from the cocoon. Ready to be seen. Ready to share more of what I carry inside.

As we swept out the booth last night, each small dust particle drifting into the dark night felt charged with intention — like spells being carried on the air. Sweeping out the old. Thanking what has been. Anchoring in what’s coming.

It was ceremonial. It felt complete, yet hopeful.

We gently planted the seeds to return to that building next year — not just because it gave us space to create more beauty, but because it allowed us to share who we truly are as artisans and as deeply spiritual, magical beings. Fully. Honestly. Without shrinking.

I can’t help but think about how we arrive where we find ourselves.

Sometimes it’s in the most magically roundabout ways that we arrive in each other’s lives — stumbling upon our creations at faire and now finding yourself exploring this new space, as though you were called here. In truth, I think every moment is calling us to tune in, and when we start to notice those subtle invitations, we begin to see just how interconnected everything truly is.

Not by accident — by the force of Fate...maybe. Chance, absolutely. Resonance, aligning with the frequency we each carry.
Following that quiet inner knowing. The familiar enchantment of Deja Vu-moments of recognition.
That inner voice that says, There is something here for you, linger awhile, feel what arises.

If you’re reading this today, on Solstice Day, I trust and welcome your arrival. I am glad you found me and decided to sit a spell and visit.

Rose Witch Apothecary, like its sister, Astral Chrysalis Designs, isn’t something I experience as a brand. Instead, I've always experienced them as tho they are living entities with their own energetic signature — that we are soulfully contracted to birth their expression into creative form. Thank you for being here with us in this magic. It is potent and generous.

In the weeks ahead, I’ll be sharing here regularly — because I truly love to write. I want to anchor my writing as part of my self-care practice because pen to page has always been healing for me, and I want to hone this now, more than ever. There is so much inside me that I want to share. The dreamer and visionary in me is very much alive, and the time is drawing near...

Each Thursday, I’ll leave an offering of some kind on my homepage or here in this blog, which can be found titled as From the Edge of Dawn in the Merry Meet Dropdown Menu on my website. Sometimes it will be a short audio — a mantra, a reflection, a feeling I don’t want to rush past. Just my voice, as it is that week, wherever I’m at.

Sometimes it will be stories from my life. What’s inspiring me creatively. What it means to walk this world as a woman, a mother, a witch, an artist — and how all of those threads weave together.

Simply sharing from a place of presence.

Every other week on Monday, I’ll also share something special for families and children. As a mother to three adult sons and now Nonna Fae Fae to my sweet grandbaby girl, I want to share some of the fun and nature magic I shared with my own littles. In doing so, it becomes an offering to my granddaughter — a way of gifting her a childhood as magical as the one her papa was raised in. And may these posts bring a little bit of extra magic, wonder, and silly into your family's weekly adventures.

These posts will be gentle invitations for parents to play, wander, and foster a deep reverence and love for nature with their littles, sharing stories, activities, craft projects, recipes, songs, and much more. As much as I love elements of technology, I feel passionate that we help root our children in feeling that the world around them is alive, listening, and communicating. This space will be called For the Littles, and the shares here will be very dear to my heart. For the Littles will also be located in the Merry Meet Dropdown on my website, under From the Edge of Dawn.

There is no wonder as potent or as connected to the spirit as childhood wonder. And those rare moments, when adult me touches that same awe and glee, I feel profoundly grateful for the gift of remembering — and a return to my inner wildling.

Throughout the year, I’ll also pause here at the turning points — Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Midsummer, Mabon — to share how I mark them, how I listen, how the seasons speak to me. Simply to share, and to bear witness to my own cycles. Always as an offering.

What matters most to me is holding space.

For noticing the magic in the mundane.
For those quiet aha moments that arrive when we slow down enough to let them speak.

If something here stirs that in you — a memory, a ritual, a way you honor the seasons — I hope you’ll share it with me. This isn’t meant to be one voice speaking outward. Instead, I envision us circling together — to listen, to share, and to connect.

Today, the light begins its return.

The world is still cold. Still quiet. Still resting. And yet — everything is already moving beneath the surface.

I’m grateful that you’re here for this new beginning of mine. Thank you for visiting and reading this very first blog entry.

Love & Bunnies,
Azalyne
Rose Witch Apothecary

May the season hold you gently
May the returning light touch upon your upturned face
May your heart shine like a beacon of love to those around you