Witchcraft Under Different Skies

 

Witchcraft Under Different Skies

I remember one night in June, standing barefoot in my garden with a shawl wrapped tight around my shoulders. The winter air bit at my skin and the moon hung low, bright as a lantern. It was a full moon and I lit a single candle, whispering words of release into the cold night. The season felt heavy, quiet, almost like the earth itself was sleeping.

Later that same evening I scrolled through messages from witchy friends overseas. Photos flooded in of midsummer bonfires, music, and laughter under the exact same moon I had just stood beneath in silence. For me she wore a cloak of frost and stillness. For them she blazed over fields alive with summer heat.

That was the night I finally understood. The moon does not change, but the world around her does. And that world shapes the way we feel her magic.

When I first began practicing, I tried following the instructions in the books I had collected. They told me to celebrate rebirth and new beginnings under a March full moon. Yet in South Africa, my March belongs to autumn. The leaves are turning, and the energy is about harvest and letting go. I forced myself to act as though spring energy was present, but it always felt off, like wearing clothes that did not fit.

Eventually I let go of the books and began listening instead. I started writing down how the moons felt to me. September moons called me to plant and grow. June moons pulled me into reflection and shadow work. Slowly I saw a pattern. That was the freedom I needed. I did not have to copy anyone else’s calendar. The moon was the same, but she spoke differently through the land I lived on.

Now when I craft rituals I listen twice. First to the rhythm of her waxing and waning. Then to the whisper of the season beneath her. A Northern witch and I might both set intentions under a September new moon, but mine are alive with blossoms while theirs carry the weight of autumn shadows. Neither is wrong. Both are true.

Every time I look up I feel her binding us together across oceans and time zones. Yet she also reminds me to root my practice in the soil beneath my feet.

That night in June, with the cold full moon above me, I finally understood that witchcraft is not about copying words from a page. It is about standing under the sky, listening, and letting both moon and earth teach me how to weave my magic.

And that is the story I continue to write in my grimoire, one moon at a time.

You can read more about witchcraft under Southern skies in " The Witches Compass Turns South by Dyrk D'Raven" available from Amazon, in kindle or Softcover