The Witch’s Art of Timing

There are times to be seen – and times to slip quietly through the cracks of the day. I’ve found both are acts of power.

As urban wild ones, green witches, hedge-walkers in sneakers, and jeans, we don’t always wear our magic on the outside. We move through city streets with herbs tucked into pockets, our intentions humming just below the surface. We know how to soften our steps at dusk, how to time our movements with shifting shadows. We hide in plain sight – not from fear, but from wisdom.

To blend in is not to disappear. It is to belong – in a way that doesn’t demand explanation.

Why We Hide (Sometimes)
There’s a deep relief in not having to explain yourself. To not be asked “what’s that smell?” when you’re anointing your wrists with a well-crafted Mugwort oil. To avoid the blank stares when you mention the fox you saw three nights in a row and how you took it as a sign.

In the quiet of blending, we protect our inner fire. We gather strength, we observe, and we listen.

Yet, there are moments – often sweet, crackling moments – when it becomes necessary to emerge; To let the world see the green streak in your spirit. These are the times to say aloud what you believe, what you sense, what you know. Not in any attempt to convert, but to show. These are the times when we say: “This is possible. This is me.”

In doing so, we make it possible for others to do the same.

The Power of Liminality
I’ve always been drawn to the in-between and perhaps you have too. To dawn, but especially dusk, to Beltane but particularly Samhain, and certain portals, doorways, and stairwells. These are places in time and space where things shift. Liminality is not just a metaphor – it’s a texture, a scent, and a softening of edges. It helps us become more fluid, less fixed. It lets us flow unnoticed when we choose – and it amplifies our presence when we step forward, radiant and rooted.

In my forthcoming book, I write about how the liminality – this altered state of awareness between waking and dreaming – is where we can work magic most naturally. In this zone, we perceive more, judge less, and flow easily with the energies of a place. The city becomes more than concrete and tarmac; it becomes a living, whispering terrain which can converse with us.

The Gift of Growing Older
As a woman of middle age, I’ve noticed myself blending in more. After the initial shock of this quieting, this invisibility, it’s become quite a blessing. The gaze that once interrupted my flow, now slides off easily. What remains is a spaciousness of quiet power. With it comes the freedom to observe, roam, and move like mist through the world – less noticed, more knowing. Blending in has become less of a tactic and more a rite of passage.

Preparing to Re-emerge
As I write this, I’m beginning to prepare for next year’s pilgrimage. (It looks like it’ll be late April to early May – Beltane. Naturally.) I do not see it only about physical travel, but also as a process of reconnecting with source.

This pilgrimage will take my group to the Rheinland – the area where Hildegard von Bingen lived, listened, and wrote with fierce clarity about the interconnection of all things. She saw humans as threaded into the cosmos, not separate from nature but woven into its divine intelligence. Her writings on plants, animals, stones, and healing still pulse with vitality, and I’m drawn to them like roots seeking water. The plan to walk the same ground, breathe the river-winds she described, and experience the same plants she once did, feels less a move forward than a turning back, and a chance to find what’s already inside.

As part of my preparation, I’ve begun learning German. A complete beginner, just a few minutes per day, I’m utterly enchanted by the strangeness of it. Why German? Because many of the texts calling to me – Hildegard’s own writings – I’ve read in English translation, but I prefer to consult original texts, and there are many modern resources available only in German. Hildegard’s originals are an intriguing weave of her own invented language (Lingua Ignota of around 1000 words), old German, and Latin. So by starting to learn German, I hope to understand a little more of what has long been hidden in plain sight from me. Just as I’ve learned to blend in as an urban witch, I now feel called to emerge differently – through language, with due reverence and curiosity.

Coming Out of the Broom Closet
Not for all of us, but for many there comes a time to confidently tell your neighbour why Bay and Tansy leaves are tucked into your doorframe. When you post your first dressed candle or mini-altar online. When you say, gently but firmly, “Yes, I do that kind of work.” That is when you cast a quiet spell of acceptance – on yourself, and on the world around you. Of course, not everyone needs to do this, and not everyone will understand. And sometimes, when we allow ourselves to be seen – openly, imperfectly – it’s not just for us. It’s for the one quietly watching, unsure if their way of working magic is real enough, valid enough. Seeing another speak openly about what they do -and what they don’t – can be a kind of reassurance, a quiet beacon. A reminder that they are not alone.

I like to think that in those moments, something primal and healing stirs in the great urban melting pot; Rippling outward, unstoppable.

I carry Rue in my pocket. I walk lightly at dusk, noticing how the city breathes. And, I slip through the shadows when I need to. But I also speak more freely now. I write more openly about what I do. I’m comfortable that my way of magic be witnessed, because it may just help someone else feel more comfortable in themself.

Dancing Presence and Absence
Blending in and standing out aren’t opposites – we all need a balance of both, because one helps the other to shine. Like the moon. Like the fox. Like something half-seen at the edge of the streetlight’s reach. We can all engage liminality: that threshold we carry within and sense without, the space and time where magic waits to be met.

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I would love to know…
Do you prefer to blend in or stand out these days?
Which liminal times or spaces help your magical juices to flow?
Which quiet beacons have helped you to feel strong over the years?

P.S. I’ll be sharing more about the upcoming Hildegard pilgrimage soon, and snippets from the book as I go. If you’ve ever felt drawn to the liminal or wondered what it means to feel rooted wherever you go, you might find resonance here. More soon.