The objects we keep

The golden spoon was once a gift, its surface now darkened by countless journeys through flame and ember. Each day I draw it through dying light, and gather what remains from sacred fires. Waste not - every crumb of ash finds new purpose. The charred remnants are ground with salt, transmuting them into black salt that wards the thresholds of my home.

Now the spoon rests, curved against a piece of Palo Santo wood, its tarnished surface reflecting the flicker of a dancing flame. It leans against my cast iron cauldron where sea salt crystals wait - ready to be woven into spells of protection and transformation.