Rowan Harcrow
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rowanharcrow.bsky.social
Rowan Harcrow
@rowanharcrow.bsky.social
34 followers 360 following 9 posts
Just a Celtic pagan crow collecting shiny things along my magical, metaphysical journey: like kitchen witchery, tarot, folklore, and whatever else grabs my curiosity.
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rowanharcrow.bsky.social
Rowan Harcrow @rowanharcrow.bsky.social · 4d
This is my first post on this account, an alt account for the witchcraft and pagan side of my life - something that only a select group IRL know about (for now).
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
The first day of October has arrived, and I can feel the season shifting: the shadows are longer, the wind carries secrets - something old is stirring.

I have been waiting for this.
Orange sunlight through green-black trees
October 1, 2026 at 9:54 PM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
Today I refreshed my working altar space, cleaned and locked my mirrors, and gave my whole home a good sound cleanse. I can feel things relaxing . . .
September 30, 2026 at 11:35 PM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
I have informed the forest that I am unavailable today. The rabbits appeared understanding, but the geese were less impressed. That’s fine. Yesterday was their day. Today is mine.
September 30, 2026 at 11:57 AM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
Something stirs beneath fallen leaves.

The wind whispers of it.

The trees keep their counsel.

And the mushrooms, I suspect, know considerably more than they are willing to share.

Autumn belongs to old magic and hidden things.

#WitchSky #Autumn #Fall #Mushrooms
Several mushroom grow out of mulch in front of a green hedge
September 29, 2026 at 11:11 AM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
One of our circle members sent me this, making a great start to a Tuesday:

“I read your poem to our other cuveen members today when we met for our Harvest Home. They got chills from it. It's exceptionally good and so witchy. Thank you for letting me share it.”

oh no a compliment; what do I do?
rowanharcrow.bsky.social Rowan Harcrow @rowanharcrow.bsky.social · 4d
I was asked to write a poem for our Grove’s observance of the Autum Equinox.

#mabon #pagan #autumnequinox #poem #witch
Untitled Vespers for the Autumn Equinox We have eaten of the light: of apples and grain and honey and warm bread broken between many hands. Now as the fields begin to dream and the light grows thin, at the last furrow the wild begins: Where trees shed their names leaf by leaf until Through their branches the first stars kindle, caught for a moment in the Horned God's antlered crown; While in hollow places wind becomes laughter and song, and grasses bow and reeds tremble at His passing; Above us three crows rise into the blood-red west, black of wing and dark of eye, reflecting the final fire of the sun and sky-altar of An Morrígan; And from An Dagda's harvest comes the fullness of summer gathered into autumn, enough to sustain us beyond the waning light As the forest path disappears beneath the leaves the sun touches the horizon and the world hangs between gold and shadow. We have come to the place where field becomes forest, and branch becomes antler, and seed becomes secret, and daylight lays itself down into waiting dark Where there is shelter in hollows beneath roots and space between stars where we lay to rest the bones of summer. Bring your harvest. Bring your hunger. We gather together and together we follow the Wheel into the dark.
September 29, 2026 at 10:38 AM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
At long last, the air carries a different kind of magic as the heat fades, the leaves begin turning, and woodsmoke drifting from somewhere beyond the tree line carries with it the scent of the coming dark.

The world is becoming strange and beautiful again.
September 28, 2026 at 11:23 AM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
I was asked to write a poem for our Grove’s observance of the Autum Equinox.

#mabon #pagan #autumnequinox #poem #witch
Untitled Vespers for the Autumn Equinox We have eaten of the light: of apples and grain and honey and warm bread broken between many hands. Now as the fields begin to dream and the light grows thin, at the last furrow the wild begins: Where trees shed their names leaf by leaf until Through their branches the first stars kindle, caught for a moment in the Horned God's antlered crown; While in hollow places wind becomes laughter and song, and grasses bow and reeds tremble at His passing; Above us three crows rise into the blood-red west, black of wing and dark of eye, reflecting the final fire of the sun and sky-altar of An Morrígan; And from An Dagda's harvest comes the fullness of summer gathered into autumn, enough to sustain us beyond the waning light As the forest path disappears beneath the leaves the sun touches the horizon and the world hangs between gold and shadow. We have come to the place where field becomes forest, and branch becomes antler, and seed becomes secret, and daylight lays itself down into waiting dark Where there is shelter in hollows beneath roots and space between stars where we lay to rest the bones of summer. Bring your harvest. Bring your hunger. We gather together and together we follow the Wheel into the dark.
September 27, 2026 at 11:12 PM
rowanharcrow.bsky.social
This is my first post on this account, an alt account for the witchcraft and pagan side of my life - something that only a select group IRL know about (for now).
September 27, 2026 at 11:09 PM