Tools are not the foundation of my magic, but they are the allies that shape my practice. Each item I use—whether crafted by my hands, gifted by the land, or chosen with care—carries its own spirit and purpose. Over time, my toolkit has evolved, reflecting the changes in my path and the deepening of my craft. These tools are more than objects; they are extensions of my magic, woven into the daily rhythms of my practice and my relationship with the unseen.

Magic isn’t something I reserve for special occasions—it’s woven into the rhythm of my daily life. From greeting the house spirits each morning with an offering of tea or coffee to blessing the meal my wife and I share, my routines are small but intentional acts that deepen my connection to my spirits, my home, and myself. Each moment, from listening to the crows to placing my besom against the door at night, is a quiet spell, a reminder that magic is always present, waiting to be lived.

For 25 years, I’ve walked the path of a practicing witch, shaping my craft through folklore, folk magic, and personal experience. While I appreciate the structure of Traditional Witchcraft, I hesitate to claim the label outright. Too often, it comes with assumptions—of strict adherence to specific traditions, of working with the Witch Father or the Witch’s Devil, of following a path that isn’t mine. My magic is rooted in history but ultimately personal, and I’ve learned that labels, while useful, should never define me more than my own practice does.

Inspired by a dream and shaped by necessity, my magic rings are more than just tools—they are portals, focal points, and protective boundaries in my craft. Inspired by the Witches' Compass of Traditional Magic, these iron and copper rings enhance my workings, allowing me to reach beyond the physical and into the unseen. Through trial, fire, and intuition, I forged a practice that balances tradition with personal revelation, crafting rings that are both practical and deeply magical.

Magic is not just about what we do—it’s also about what we do it with. A year ago, I began rewilding my witchcraft, shifting away from mass-produced supplies and returning to historically appropriate materials and crafting methods. This meant trading store-bought candles for hand-dipped beeswax, synthetic cords for hand-spun thread, and glass bowls for earthenware and wood. In doing so, I found a deeper connection to my magical ancestors, a richer engagement with my craft, and a renewed sense of authenticity in my spellwork.