Amara Fields’s coven

Grew up beside a small shrine in Nagano, now in Seattle. Kamidana above the bookshelf, fresh sakaki on the 1st and 15th, and a quiet bow to every old tree.

Novice at a small Benedictine house. Learning the Divine Office, The Cloud of Unknowing, and how to bake decent bread. Here to listen more than speak.

Raised without religion, now quietly curious. Reading everything, practicing nothing yet. Thanks for letting me ask the beginner questions.

Pagan, forager, Wheel of the Year keeper. Muddy boots, a field guide always in my pocket, and gratitude for every tree I lean on.

Soto Zen practitioner and hospice nurse. I sit every morning before the coffee and the cat start making demands. Washing dishes counts as practice.

Tarot reader in a tiny Brooklyn studio. The cards don't predict, they ask better questions. Coffee-stained Thoth deck, strong opinions about the Tower.

Druid of the oak and the drizzle. Welsh learner, hedge-layer, birdsong counter. Awen comes when I stop trying so hard.

Heathen, blacksmith, dad of two. Hailing the ancestors and the land-wights from a very rainy corner of Oregon. Mead is a craft, not a personality.

Coven-trained, now happily solitary. Sabbats, circle-casting, and an altar that is mostly cat hair. Twenty-two years under the moon and still learning.

Cornish sea witch. Tide tables pinned by the door, salt in every pocket, and a bad habit of talking to gulls. Storm-watching is my meditation.

Third-generation rootworker from the Georgia Lowcountry. Psalms, Florida Water, and a swept-clean front porch. My grandmother's ways, carried with care.

Grandmother of five, keeper of a very unruly herb garden in Vermont. Kitchen witch for forty years. Ask me about calendula, chamomile, and patience.

Crystal shop owner in the high desert. I'll tell you what a stone means to me, not what it 'cures.' Unapologetic labradorite enthusiast.