I have a confession to make. I’ve never really enjoyed a true farmers market.
“Why?” you might ask.

Because they used to overwhelm me. I felt like an oddball, unsure how to approach a booth. I’d worry about hurting the seller’s feelings if I didn’t buy something.
Hahaha, I know.

But it had been way too many years since I gave it a real try, so I decided to venture out to a big, popular one here in the city. And you know what? I loved it.

There were the smells: freshly brewed coffee, sun-ripened tomatoes, spicy chiles, and little whiffs of kettle corn floating on the breeze.

As Patrick and I wandered the market, it honestly felt like the universe said, “Here. Take a breath. Enjoy this.”
So I did.

First stop: tomatoes. Rows of them, blushing in the morning light. Deep red, full of flavor. And then, there it was. This golden tomato with a stem curl that gave it serious attitude. It was like, “Yes, I know I’m the only one like me. You’re welcome.”
I respected that energy.

Next up, the flowers. It felt like we’d stumbled into a Fae market. Sunflowers, peonies, deep purple irises that brought such an “otherworldly” vibe, it was impossible to ignore.

Then came the dried chiles. Basket after basket of them, like tiny fire wands waiting to be stirred into something that clears your sinuses and wakes up your soul. 

There was this buzz in the air. People chatting, laughing, tasting honey, squeezing produce, just... living. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t curated for Instagram. But it was real.

And that’s where the magick is. Not in the perfect photo, but in the moment your heart does a soft somersault because someone hands you a flower or smiles like they mean it.

Somewhere between the flower stall and the homemade mosquito repellent lady, I realized this is the kind of life I used to wish for.
And now, I’m living it.

It’s full of color. Full of flavor. Full of those tiny moments that quietly stack into something sacred.

So here’s your reminder. Magick doesn’t always show up with candles or chanting.
Sometimes it looks like tomatoes and sunflowers.
Sometimes it’s just letting the day unfold without rushing it.

And if you’re ever feeling off or disconnected, go to a market.

Let beauty catch you off guard.
Let yourself be that one golden tomato in a sea of red.
The world will notice.

The magick will find you when you look for it,

Shakti
​

This month, I turn 53.

I’ve lived enough years to see entire versions of myself rise, fall, rebuild, transform, and bloom again. Enough years to know that most things don’t stay the same for long, and enough wisdom now to be at peace with that.

I stopped dying my hair. Not because I’ve given up on my appearance. But because I’ve learned to embrace this side of my becoming.

There are silver threads along the frame of my face and around my temples. And threads throughout my entire head. I’m learning to see them as stars. Signs that my stellar being is starting to peek through. They shimmer when the light hits them just right. And maybe that’s the point, some things only show their beauty when the light shifts.

My body has settled into a natural, truer rhythm. Not always predictable, but familiar. Like a drumbeat I used to dance around, and now, finally, I’m learning a few of the steps. It’s a work in progress.
But aren't we all?

The most beautiful mirror I have now are my daughters. In them, I see the best of what I carry and the evolution of everything I still hope for. They are wise and wild in their own ways. Fierce and funny. They are brilliant. Powerful Sovereigns of their lives. 

And now, I’m starting to see myself in my grandchildren also. The older ones, who call me Gammy, are now taller than me. You can see them starting to take on their own uniqueness, ideas, expressions and things outside the realm of their parents. They don’t climb into my lap anymore, but we laugh, we talk, and every now and then, I catch a glimmer in their eyes that reminds me of my children at their age.

The little ones aren’t saying my name just yet, but they know me.
We read books, play games. . . or at least I try. Sometimes they’re off in toddler worlds of their own, and that’s okay.
It’s enough to just be near them and to witness this next wave of their becoming.

This year, as I step into 53, I’m also stepping into a new cycle in numerology, what’s called a Personal Year 1.
Last year was a 9 Year for me, which is all about completions and release. And let me tell you, I felt that.
Some stories ended. Some identities faded. I closed doors I had outgrown, even if I’d once clung to the handles.

But this year, this 1 Year, feels like a wide open field. There’s a sense of possibility again.
A whispered invitation that says,
You can begin here.
And I’m listening.

If you’re curious what your personal year is, here’s how to find it:
Take your birth month + day, and add it to the current year.
Then reduce that number to a single digit.
For example:
Mine is May 23 → 5 + 23 + 2025 = 2053
Then 2 + 0 + 5 + 3 = 1

That’s my number this year.
A year of new beginnings.
New choices.
New chapters.

Happy Solar Return to Me.
May we all see our beauty and recognize the gift of life at every age-
Shakti