harnessing december's magic
learning lessons in the stillness and befriending the winter season with rituals
It doesn’t matter how many times I write “December” in my journals, I am still surprised by its sudden arrival. The smell of wet pine needles and crushed peppermint, a slow cooked stew brewing, neighborhood twinkling with various lights, the sun setting at 4pm, Tim Allen Christmas films on repeat, a romantic candlelit dinner served with an espresso martini, cocooned on the sofa in a blanket, hot toddies to warm the body, and storytelling by the fireplace. This is December’s gifted magic.
December is the threshold for Winter’s stillness. With the last leaves now a blanket underneath our feet, we are guided to be still. Our bodies recognize the arrival of shorter days, and we answer the call by caving into the darkest of nights. Our hearts pregnant with glee; our spirits warm from familiar chatter over shared dinners and fires. Winter itself keeps us great company with her chilled embrace as she lays us to rest easy as snowflakes dance from the sky. Under the brightness of the first Winter Moon after the solstice, our reflection looks back at us in a moonlit mirror, eyes scanning the wrinkles that have grown around our eyes and mouths, a memorabilia of time loved by us as another year passes.
December carries the weight of all the months prior… all that has been, the potential experienced, the feelings felt — they all reach a kind of finale. I choose not to count my mistakes this time. I choose not to be saddened about what I didn’t get done as the countdown begins. Instead, I am still in this fleeting moment to embody everything that I’ve felt this year: disappointment, love, hope, joy, confusion… the list is complex and long, for this is nothing but the raw human experience.
This month ushers in memories that replay in our minds like a film projecter: a laughing fit shared with a loved one, a coffee date, that really good book we can’t stop thinking about, the coolness of the river on our hot skin, hands deep in the soil, a long shower after a stressful day, that day of celebration… So many moments have passed, and yet sometimes we feel like we have not changed at all. But how can that be true? How can we spend hours in conversation and come out of them unchanged?
If there is anything I have learned its that I will go through becoming many versions of myself, time and time again. Expanding, shedding, and layering the delivered lessons from each Winter season. December has always been a pause for me to reflect on how far I’ve come and where else I can go from here. In this stillness, my heart swells with potential… the potential of what could unravel and the thrill of how far I’ve reached. There were some luminous moments of clarity this year — the type of moments that answer questions posed years ago that are now unfolding as I settle into the stillness. While I may feel uncertain about where exactly my path will lead down next, my intention seems to be the same. I deepen my heels into the ground, rooting myself in this singular certainty. The trees never leave their place, and yet they continue to grow. They have taught me that being still and present is the answer to growth.
There are some rituals that I return to every Winter; quite mundane to the unfamiliar eye, but magical to those who know that world. If you’re inclined to dip your toes into occultism and living magically at all, you’d be interested in joining my workspace, Folkcraft. There I will be sharing this month’s field notes working with in-season plant spirits (holly and peppermint) and hearth magic with rituals of care. But there is no rush, no hurry, no sense of urgency as we turn the wheel… It’s just us with the frost on the windowsill from Winter’s breath and a mug of hot tea.
gentle winter rituals
There is a bench I have underneath the Dogwood tree to listen to the finches, bluejays, and crows that socialize in our neighborhood. There is nothing better than catching a glimpse of the Sun on my skin to rejuvenate the mind during lunch hour and listening to their chirps and caws around me. Positioned on the Dogwood tree is a bird house that I hope someone will make use of this season, should they need it. If you live in a region where there is heavy winter fall, the blanket of snow can make it difficult for the birds, squirrels, and other critters to find food resources. Befriend Winter by befriending them, and make treats for the wild birds like peanut butter covered pine cones with bird seed hung on tree branches. I like to use the Old Farmers Almanac for ideas on how I can support my local wildlife.
Make the evenings romantic with your seasonal beverage of choice. Recently I’ve been enjoying an espresso martini as I write — a beverage I never imagined I’d enjoy until I had it for the first time at church-turned-cocktail bar. They had a seasonal pumpkin spice espresso martini, and now I’m after that taste ever since. But don’t get the impression that it’s all I enjoy. In this household, we are quite traditional with our English black teas served with milk and sugar. I am married to an Englishman, after all. But for December I switch out my traditional black tea for an occasional peppermint hot cocoa on nights I’m feeling like I need a little extra somethin’. Whatever your beverage of choice may be, thrift a special mug or glass to make it in. Something that says this isn’t just a tea — this is a treat. Other seasonal beverages I like to enjoy are hot cocoa with lavender, a hot toddy (especially if I’m feeling sick), as well as ginger and cinnamon tea with some orange zest.
Write yourself a letter for 2026. I do this every December for the following year. It’s like witnessing my headspace exactly a year prior, identifying thoughts that were once important that may have fizzled with time, or dreams that no longer aligned, or, even wilder to witness, aspirations that were fulfilled. This letter can be anything you want: a list of what you’d hope the next year brings you, how you want to feel, dreams you have for yourself in this moment to see if they still resonate later… Whatever comes to mind and is something worth reflecting in a year.
Start a “memorable moment” mason jar. I’ve got plenty of mason jars that are filled with dried herbs, dirt collected from my hometown, and now I have one filled with little folded post-it notes of days that were especially memorable. At the end of the year, I’ll read each one to recall all the goodness that was experienced. Far too often I focus on the moments that were heavy on my shoulders, but this has become a practice to equally remember the moments that brought me joy too.
Keep your hands busy by picking up a gentle hobby, such as needlecraft in its many forms: cross-stitch, embroidery, quilting, knitting. This year I focused on honing in new skills such as cross-stitching and, more recently, knitting. When working with our hands, we not only distract ourselves from spiraling down the abyss of The Scroll, but instead work our minds into a relaxed trance state by focusing on the creation of something. What I love most about cross-stitch and knitting is that it doesn’t ask too much of me. I’m able to work with my hands from the comfort of the sofa while watching a film, or while listening to an audiobook. It’s a practice of experiencing a small victory. Finishing my first knitting project of a shawl/scarf released a sense of achievement. The momentum of consistent movements of my fingers and hands eases my mind and creates space to connect with Winter. My mind wonders, daydreams even, while my hand connects me to a long tradition of ancestors before me.
Connect to Winter by remembering it’s magic through the art of film. I don’t consider myself much of a film critic. There are some that have left me feeling moved by this seasonal magic with its story. The classic that I return to every year are A Christmas Carol (specifically The Muppets since it is my husband’s favorite), Polar Express, and Little Women. Each of these films ignites a spark within my heart about the meaning of gathering during the Winter Solstice: togetherness, authenticity, community care, and believing in not only hope, but in each other.
lessons from winter’s stillness
There is no sudden shift into a whole new chapter of ourselves, but rather a collection of small acts that transpire over a course of a season. Winter is the permission to take a pause and look back at our footprints in the snow. We feel the gratitude, the reminiscence, the hope, and allow it to engulf us as we sit in front of the hearth, blanketed by Winter’s softness.
Not to be yet another writer who offers journal prompts, but I find them to be helpful when I stare at the blank page of another spread. Here are some I’ve been working through to witness the lessons from Winter’s stillness.
What is the fire within me that sparks the brightest when I am still?
How do I show myself that I am proud of my efforts?
What does strength look like to me, and what practices can I implement to embody it?
Light a candle, grab your fountain pen, and spend quality time reflecting this month, if that feels right to you.
A few weeks ago during my therapy session, I was explaining to my therapist that a lot of the times I feel myself operating in my headspace. So much so that daily headaches would arise, and my brain would literally feel exhausted. She prompted me with a question, not one that needed to be answered right away but instead one that I could take with me. She asked, “I wonder what would happen if you focused on making the decision in your chest, where your heart is… Decisions that are heart-led rather than strictly logical, and maybe even overthought.” (I’m paraphrasing here, but this was the gist.)
Ever since she prompted this I have returned to it when I feel stuck operating solely in my headspace. When I revert my attention to my chest, and therefore my heart, the entire process of my day feels differently. It feels lighter, and every day that has passes I have learned to trust myself. That’s such a difficult thing to do when you’ve been recovering from experiences that made you question yourself, and I am by no means someone who has the ultimate solution for that either. It’s something I’m integrating, and yet another lesson this December has to offer. Perhaps it is something that could be of use in guiding you this month, too.
‘Til next time,
Leah
Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and wisdom 🥰