Spells From the Homestead

Spells from the Homestead exists because I needed somewhere to put this year of my life. It was a year where the house called out. The land insisted. Ungovernable thoughts were sometimes briefly willing to be words. Forever chasing light in photographs, dreaming in doodles. This book tolerates notes in the light space. It does not mind dirt. It does not hurry you. I hope you grow things because of it, but I won't be mad if you don't. The soil decides. I have left productivity, polish, and inflicted expectations behind me. What was once required fell away without ceremony, and the body went on, uncorrected. But this book does not tell you how. I embrace seasons, a wilder definition of home, and feral joy, but this book does not tell you why. The secrets I share in this grimoire are mysterious even to me. Is that enough description? It must be, because it is all I will give you.