❄️ A Witch in the Wild: Spellcraft and Spirit in the Land of Midnight Sun

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There’s magic, and then there’s Alaska.

I’ve done rituals in cramped hotel rooms, cast circles in truck beds, and lit candles with a Bic in roadside motels. But this? This is different. Alaska doesn’t whisper magic — it roars it. It hums in the glacier-fed rivers, in the stubborn spruce trees, in the bone-deep cold that reminds you: you are small, but you are part of something bigger.

I’m writing this from Anchorage, where even the ravens look like they know things. (And I’m not just talking about the spilled french fries in the parking lot.) The land here doesn’t politely host your magic — it demands your respect before it’ll let you weave a single thread of it.

🌲 Magic in Motion: Practicing on the Road

When you’re a witch constantly in motion — a traveling practitioner, a road-weary crone with a carry-on full of herbs and crystals — you learn to adapt. But Alaska tests even the seasoned among us. This place doesn’t want your carefully curated altar aesthetic. It wants raw. Real. Reverent.

  • A stone I picked up on a mountain trail.

  • A thermos of tea brewed with local herbs.

  • A whispered prayer to the land beneath my boots.

That was enough. More than enough. Even when the light doesn't fade here until after 10 pm, and the sea planes zoom overhead while landing in the lake here. 

🧭 Offerings to the Land

If you come to Alaska — and I hope you do — bring offerings. Not just your incense and coins. I mean your presence. Your gratitude. Your silence.

  • A handful of oats beside a trail.

  • A sliver of honey-dipped bread near the water.

  • A breath I didn’t know I was holding, exhaled into the wind.

And in return? The land opened. The sky cleared. The crows circled. The moose came out. 



🖤 Witchcraft Is a Dialogue, Not a Performance

This trip reminds me of something I forget in the constant online hum of witchcraft discourse: real magic isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always planned. It doesn’t need a trending sound or a caption. It’s dirty boots and cold hands and saying thank you to the mountain without needing it to answer.

🌌 The Spirits Here Are Old

Older than any circle I’ve cast. Older than the names we give them. They are not interested in your clout, your credentials, or your candle color correspondences.

They want to know if you’re listening. Really listening.

And I am. With wide eyes and a full heart.

Anchorage, thank you. Spirits of this land, thank you. You amaze me, wonderful, wild, Alaska. 

More magic to come. But for now? I’m going to pour a cup of tea, light a travel-safe candle, and honor the silence that surrounds me.

Even witches need stillness. And Alaska has plenty to spare.

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