Suburban witches meet in secret. Or as secret as suburbia allows, with its nosy neighbors and their curious, narrow-eyed stares. Jokes are made about broom closets, but it is easier this way.
No Sabbat circles on soccer fields. They turn the wheel of the year in living rooms and basements, under the guise of book clubs or knitting groups. (Though they do have a proper book club that meets on alternate Tuesdays, and several of them knit.)
In October, post-trick-or-treating, when sugar-sated children are tucked in bed, they wander through the veil-thin night in ironically worn pointy hats. Using disguises to be themselves.
Though circles and spells are kept at home, concealed behind closed plastic window blinds.
Punctuated by spice cake and candy, gossip and mugs of coffee.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.