Most people have a devil and an angel on their shoulders. I just have a dragon – a fabulous firedrake – that lives in my bones. It's much more wonderful and its flame burns away bullshit like you wouldn't believe. – #EmilyCBanting
October 3, 2026 at 1:56 PM
Most people have a devil and an angel on their shoulders. I just have a dragon – a fabulous firedrake – that lives in my bones. It's much more wonderful and its flame burns away bullshit like you wouldn't believe. – #EmilyCBanting
For I am a salt-hag. I know gull gossip. I know the calling and quelling of storms. My hair is wind-braided. My lips wear rough salt kisses. I stand on the cliffs and read omens pulled by the tide. Be well and avoid my anger. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #FolkWitchFriday #WitchSky
October 2, 2026 at 1:26 PM
For I am a salt-hag. I know gull gossip. I know the calling and quelling of storms. My hair is wind-braided. My lips wear rough salt kisses. I stand on the cliffs and read omens pulled by the tide. Be well and avoid my anger. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #FolkWitchFriday #WitchSky
For even the solitary witch never truly walks alone. She may be rarely seen at those guerrilla covens of extreme need, but she travels with the spirits of the land. Her constant companions are genii locorum – whispering, protecting and teaching as she navigate her way. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
September 30, 2026 at 4:26 PM
For even the solitary witch never truly walks alone. She may be rarely seen at those guerrilla covens of extreme need, but she travels with the spirits of the land. Her constant companions are genii locorum – whispering, protecting and teaching as she navigate her way. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
Witchcraft is not consolatory hokum. It doesn't offer tepid answers to hard questions and even harsher circumstances. It offers us relationships with the land, its spirits and ourselves. Relationships may be rough and require work, but they get us through. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
September 30, 2026 at 10:14 AM
Witchcraft is not consolatory hokum. It doesn't offer tepid answers to hard questions and even harsher circumstances. It offers us relationships with the land, its spirits and ourselves. Relationships may be rough and require work, but they get us through. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
Even inland, the salt-hag is tide-pulled. Gulls call her to come to shore and see the wave-polished augeries on display. Sea-seasoned winds make promises of things to be summoned at the slack. She walks to her secret cove. Her first glimpse of sea an intoxication. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
September 23, 2026 at 12:56 PM
Even inland, the salt-hag is tide-pulled. Gulls call her to come to shore and see the wave-polished augeries on display. Sea-seasoned winds make promises of things to be summoned at the slack. She walks to her secret cove. Her first glimpse of sea an intoxication. – #EmilyCBanting #WitchSky
Here on the blurred borders of autumn, fields sing for their due libations of ale and blood. Demand the honouring of our old contracts with them. For harvest needs a balancing and fair payment. Take not corn saints and corn maidens till the tithe is paid. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #Equinox
September 22, 2026 at 5:42 PM
Here on the blurred borders of autumn, fields sing for their due libations of ale and blood. Demand the honouring of our old contracts with them. For harvest needs a balancing and fair payment. Take not corn saints and corn maidens till the tithe is paid. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #Equinox
The witch's calendar is not only told by suns and moons, but by her constant harvest. She knows her place in the year by gifts of the land. Her garnering bag full of tomorrow's magical inks and cures that will be needed in the harshness of winter. – #EmilyCBanting, 1981 #WitchSky
September 21, 2026 at 12:58 PM
The witch's calendar is not only told by suns and moons, but by her constant harvest. She knows her place in the year by gifts of the land. Her garnering bag full of tomorrow's magical inks and cures that will be needed in the harshness of winter. – #EmilyCBanting, 1981 #WitchSky
Give me hedge and a cloud-omened sky and I'll give you a witch-telling of tomorrow. Give me autumn lanes to walk and verges to harvest and I'll make my witch-graft a healing of illnesses yet to knock at door of winter. Let the land be my calendar of magics. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
September 17, 2026 at 1:53 PM
Give me hedge and a cloud-omened sky and I'll give you a witch-telling of tomorrow. Give me autumn lanes to walk and verges to harvest and I'll make my witch-graft a healing of illnesses yet to knock at door of winter. Let the land be my calendar of magics. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
My morning in Weychester Physic Garden has given me inspiration for more than witchery. I've the perfect design for my next DIY T-shirt. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
September 9, 2026 at 10:11 AM
My morning in Weychester Physic Garden has given me inspiration for more than witchery. I've the perfect design for my next DIY T-shirt. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
I am a witch of the wild edge, the tall hedge. I will sing the song of scratches and tangles that I hear at every ragged border stitching the land. This is my threshold. This is my feral calendar of the year. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
September 6, 2026 at 9:19 AM
I am a witch of the wild edge, the tall hedge. I will sing the song of scratches and tangles that I hear at every ragged border stitching the land. This is my threshold. This is my feral calendar of the year. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Here at the edge of the salt marsh, all magic is brined. Clouds race the sky for the delight of being augury. Boats are warded against the songs of blue-skinned Blood Sisters, the summoning of ill winds. The mud holds its stolen treasures and even we witches walk with caution. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
September 5, 2026 at 2:14 PM
Here at the edge of the salt marsh, all magic is brined. Clouds race the sky for the delight of being augury. Boats are warded against the songs of blue-skinned Blood Sisters, the summoning of ill winds. The mud holds its stolen treasures and even we witches walk with caution. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
The witch's navigation is as much by spirits as it is by landmarks. We journey not to the tall tree, but to the Wood Sprite's home. Travel not to small pool, but the pond that wears omens upon its surface. We walk a map of wild wonders. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
September 2, 2026 at 2:39 PM
The witch's navigation is as much by spirits as it is by landmarks. We journey not to the tall tree, but to the Wood Sprite's home. Travel not to small pool, but the pond that wears omens upon its surface. We walk a map of wild wonders. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
We have entered that blurred border between summer and autumn where bees seem to intensify their efforts as prophecy of coming cold. A honeyed period between regret and hope where the witch makes rich harvest of cures for winter, the sadness of the passing year. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
September 1, 2026 at 3:48 PM
We have entered that blurred border between summer and autumn where bees seem to intensify their efforts as prophecy of coming cold. A honeyed period between regret and hope where the witch makes rich harvest of cures for winter, the sadness of the passing year. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Despite what certain idiots who take a masturbatory glee at the thought of walking dark paths believe, witchery is not always a manifesting of wrath, a string of curses. Witchery is more often a thousand moments of wonder, bursts of beauty singing. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
August 27, 2026 at 12:03 PM
Despite what certain idiots who take a masturbatory glee at the thought of walking dark paths believe, witchery is not always a manifesting of wrath, a string of curses. Witchery is more often a thousand moments of wonder, bursts of beauty singing. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
There are places even locals rarely frequent such as the salt cured marsh with its mud and tide peril. Here my garnering bag becomes fat, my boots dirty. Here my heart is charged, my magics grow tidal teeth. Here I am a brackish witch. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
August 26, 2026 at 8:55 AM
There are places even locals rarely frequent such as the salt cured marsh with its mud and tide peril. Here my garnering bag becomes fat, my boots dirty. Here my heart is charged, my magics grow tidal teeth. Here I am a brackish witch. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
For I am witch. I will dance the storm. I will dance the coming of blessed rain. I will sing as the land sighs and the sky shouts. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
August 19, 2026 at 3:01 PM
For I am witch. I will dance the storm. I will dance the coming of blessed rain. I will sing as the land sighs and the sky shouts. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The witch walks the woods not just to fill her garnering bag, not just to talk with her favourite Wood Sprites. She walks to enter the trance of green communion. She walks to shade and silence her mind of all the accumulated bullshit beyond the woods. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
August 19, 2026 at 12:52 PM
The witch walks the woods not just to fill her garnering bag, not just to talk with her favourite Wood Sprites. She walks to enter the trance of green communion. She walks to shade and silence her mind of all the accumulated bullshit beyond the woods. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The witch reads the land as a storybook told by spirits. Reads the sky as fluidity of omens. Her garnering bag is herb-plump in each season. Everything she needs in her work is gifted by nature, but yes of course, tell me I need to buy things to be a better witch. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
August 19, 2026 at 9:25 AM
The witch reads the land as a storybook told by spirits. Reads the sky as fluidity of omens. Her garnering bag is herb-plump in each season. Everything she needs in her work is gifted by nature, but yes of course, tell me I need to buy things to be a better witch. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
Today's perfect for nephomancy or as it's called in Hookland, cloud-telling. According to Mother Walton's Book of Shapes, this formation is known as: 'The terrier chasing butterflies'. It is said to represent diversions leading to misplaced attention and labour. – #EmilyCBanting
August 11, 2026 at 12:54 PM
Today's perfect for nephomancy or as it's called in Hookland, cloud-telling. According to Mother Walton's Book of Shapes, this formation is known as: 'The terrier chasing butterflies'. It is said to represent diversions leading to misplaced attention and labour. – #EmilyCBanting
I love #EmilyCBanting. Could happily have a lore book from/on her wild wisdom.
August 4, 2026 at 3:18 PM
I love #EmilyCBanting. Could happily have a lore book from/on her wild wisdom.
Wood edge and hedge offer me constant treasure. My garnering bag sings for me to walk them, my kerping knife begs to be unclasped in their presence. While witchcraft is often witch graft, when I am beside them, witchcraft is also an act of joy. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
August 3, 2026 at 1:23 PM
Wood edge and hedge offer me constant treasure. My garnering bag sings for me to walk them, my kerping knife begs to be unclasped in their presence. While witchcraft is often witch graft, when I am beside them, witchcraft is also an act of joy. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
The land at drought cries to the sky for rain. Cries through cracks in fields, through its dusty lane coughing. Everywhere distressed spirits at lamentation. Everywhere a tormenting thirst. In this time of withering, we forgive the coming of storms. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
July 31, 2026 at 6:18 PM
The land at drought cries to the sky for rain. Cries through cracks in fields, through its dusty lane coughing. Everywhere distressed spirits at lamentation. Everywhere a tormenting thirst. In this time of withering, we forgive the coming of storms. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982
No threat of storm keeps a salt-hag from her shore. For she is tide-turned, summoned to wave=edged places. Gulls screech secrets to her, winds tell her of all they've seen. She is a storm-stander, awaiting flotsam omens of tempest wake. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
July 21, 2026 at 10:14 AM
No threat of storm keeps a salt-hag from her shore. For she is tide-turned, summoned to wave=edged places. Gulls screech secrets to her, winds tell her of all they've seen. She is a storm-stander, awaiting flotsam omens of tempest wake. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
I walk hills to talk to solitary, sentinel trees. I listen to the things they've seen, the stories the dead entangled in their roots whisper. I do this because I am a witch. I do this because it is a joy. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
July 15, 2026 at 11:21 AM
I walk hills to talk to solitary, sentinel trees. I listen to the things they've seen, the stories the dead entangled in their roots whisper. I do this because I am a witch. I do this because it is a joy. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
For the summer visitor, the coastal paths are about postcard views, stories of wreckers and haunted lighthouses. For the salt=hag they are where we walk to gather omens to tell tomorrow and herbs to heal its ills. They are threshold engines for our magics. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky
July 13, 2026 at 12:28 PM
For the summer visitor, the coastal paths are about postcard views, stories of wreckers and haunted lighthouses. For the salt=hag they are where we walk to gather omens to tell tomorrow and herbs to heal its ills. They are threshold engines for our magics. – #EmilyCBanting, 1982 #WitchSky