Stepping into Crone was never just about the walks with Link. Wisdom has been gathering in me for a lifetime – through my mother’s guidance, my grandfather’s lessons of the land, my father’s understanding of people, and every soul who crossed my path. As my hunger for knowledge grew, folklore became truth, and Hecate emerged from the shadows as the goddess who had been walking beside me all along.
Turning fifty felt like the moment to stop shrinking, to stop apologising, and to honour the woman I had become. So I chose a pilgrimage – to stand at Hecate’s ruins with my daughter, three generations of the triple goddess in one moment. The journey tested us, but it also opened us. And in the quiet of those ancient stones, I finally understood: Crone is not an age, but a knowing. A returning to the strength that was always mine. I left those ruins changed. I left as Crone.

It’s been a while since I’ve written here – not for lack of intention, but because the path itself has demanded everything. What began as a journey through nature has become a pilgrimage through every layer of my life. The walks weren’t just woodland escapes; they were initiations. Every puddle, every storm, every quiet moonlit moment has mirrored the shift within me. I see now that the path is universal—woven through my work, my family, the seasons, and the soil. And as I step into Crone, I do so not in isolation, but in rhythm with the wheel of the year, with the ancient pulse of the earth. This is not just a transition. It is a reckoning.

On the first morning of the so‑called new year, Link and I stepped out into a world that refused to play along. The wind cut sharp, the goldfinches shimmered like tiny lanterns against winter’s dark, and everything-fields, trees, creatures—remained firmly in the season of stillness. As we walked, it struck me how far we’ve drifted from nature’s rhythm, rushing into resolutions while the land itself rests. This winter, I’m choosing a different path: one shaped by the wisdom of the ancestors, the quiet teachings of the hedgerow, and the first steps toward creating the Stepping Into Crone tarot.

After the full moon’s illumination and a walk wrapped in nature’s melody, I felt the peace I’d been cultivating for months. But in my rush to finish, to push, to perfect, I forgot the lesson I’d just been gifted: to pause, to breathe, to live in the stillness. The universe doesn’t repeat itself gently. Now, each painful step reminds me – wisdom isn’t just taught, it must be lived. And this time, I’m listening.

After a family wedding left me feeling more like an outsider than ever, I returned home to a landscape changed by rain and time. With Link by my side, I walked through fields softened by the season, searching for belonging. The power of intent, the grief of misalignment, and the quiet wisdom of nature reminded me: family isn’t always your tribe.

We set off today, Link and I, joined by Max, a city dog with a bold stride and little patience for the unknown. As we walked, I saw how familiar paths could feel foreign to someone else. Max hesitated at every change – terrain, sound, scent – while Link moved with ease. But slowly, Max began to trust me. He leapt ditches, braved brambles, and looked to me for reassurance. By the end, we weren’t just walking – we were learning from each other. I realised that what’s ordinary to me might be extraordinary to someone else. And in that space of difference, trust grows.