Hey, y’all! The other day, someone asked me why I celebrate my own birthday—as if it was a shameful thing to do. After decades of feeling that very way, I turned things around about seven years ago. Every year, I take a walk with the moon and to ponder growing older, a brave decision that I make every day and one that I take very seriously. In my fifty-seven years, I’ve not always been “given” a wonderful birthday. And so, as my hair turns ever more white, I give it to myself. It’s the deepest magic I’ve ever known as a witch. Y’all join me on the porch and, remember: witchify ‘ary damn thang, Batchildren!

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