Summer Solstice Reflections from the Crones Hearth
As a woman entering my crone years, I see my own life reflected in the seasons.
There was a time when my days revolved around raising children. The house was busy, noisy, and full of constant movement. For years, my identity was woven into motherhood. Then, almost without warning, the children grew up. They built lives of their own. The bedrooms emptied. The routines changed. The silence arrived.
Empty nesting is a strange kind of grief. Not a devastating grief, but a quiet one. A bittersweet acknowledgment that a season has ended.
Yet the wheel turns.
Now, grandchildren fill my life with a different kind of magic. I no longer carry the weight of raising them. Instead, I get to witness them. I get to delight in them. I get to pass along stories, traditions, wisdom, and wonder.
As witches, we often speak of growth, manifestation, and becoming. But the Summer Solstice reminds me that life is not only about growth. It is also about harvest.
The crone is the harvest.
She is every lesson learned, every heartbreak survived, every mistake transformed into wisdom. She has earned her laugh lines, her silver strands, and her softer pace. She understands that aging is not a failure. It is a privilege denied to many.
I am learning that aging gracefully does not mean aging quietly.
It means speaking my truth. Taking up space. Honoring the woman I have become instead of mourning the woman I once was.
Tomorrow, I will stand barefoot on the earth and give thanks. Thanks for the children who made me a mother. Thanks for the grandchildren who made me a Mimi. Thanks for the years that shaped me, the losses that humbled me, and the joys that sustained me.
The wheel continues to turn.
And for perhaps the first time, I am learning to find beauty not in becoming, but in being.
Blessed Summer Solstice.
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