The Magic of January - Midwinter

Winter Island, Salem - Waikiki Beach in January

Today dawned overcast and cold (20F/-6C) as is to be expected in New England during the winter months. I checked the tide tables for the day which is something that I do, and annotate every day, and realised that it's king tide time here. King tides are higher than normal highs, and lower than normal lows. In fact, the first time I ever saw a low king tide, the ocean was so far out that I couldn't see it at all. I stood on the beach that day wondering where in the hell the water went. But this entry isn't about that day, so let me get back on track.

While many find this month to be cold, bleak, and depressing, I find it the perfect time to catch up on tasks or projects left undone. The rush of the holidays are behind us and now we have time to cosy up and simply be. To plan. To dream. To reconnect with ourselves, with our own salt, soul, and centre. This reconnection to self and place is going to be a running theme for me this year, and what better way to begin than by visiting a winter beach?

The new year is upon us, as is the last day or two of the king tides, so I decided that today would be the day that I finally leaned into the magic of this month and got my ass down to the beach. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get to my own sacred space. A knee injury incurred on New Year's Day, although healing relatively well already, prevented me from braving the trails, the rocks, and climbing through trees. Instead, I ventured down to Winter Island here in Salem, and walked Waikiki Beach. Yes, if you're not aware, Waikiki Beach is a real place here in Salem. The name has never sat right with me for what I hope are obvious reasons, but I didn't have a say in naming it. Anyway...

I was alone on the beach as the tide was coming in. King tides rise (and fall) in a way that seems faster than normal tides, and I had to move my things twice in just the hour or so that I was there - which was also three hours before high tide was to peak. Walking the wind and snow swept strand, watching the water rise, and exploring the treasures at the ever encroaching water line was exactly the medicine my soul needed. I did not have the banner start to 2026 that I had planned and have been feeling very mentally and emotionally off this week. I wanted the king flow tide water to help refresh my own magical space and as a way to help propel me out of this state of mind and being.

As I walked, alone on the beach, I reflected on the magic and majesty of this month. We are witches in all seasons, for better or worse, and being able to connect to this season's magic so deeply was rejuvenating. January is the month of new beginnings, new promises, and new hope. The whole year stretches before us, ours to shape and mould. The earth is asleep, but in a month's time, we'll begin to feel the first stirrings of life under the snow, under the sand and mud and earth. Today, however, the earth still slumbers.

Walking that strand, I bent myself toward the life underneath my feet and found it silent. It's there, but at rest. I also marveled at the seasonality of the shells the ocean deposits here. Over summer, I tend to find a lot of oyster - especially Norwegian oyster (which are invasive here). On another beach, in the spring, I find Arctic moon snails for miles. Today, and throughout much of the winter, I've noticed that it's Atlantic slipper shells. I'll be doing a post in the future on the shells and fauna of our local beaches, but these shells are often overlooked by beach goers because they're not large or overly lovely like the Norwegian oyster or even the periwinkle, or our enormous surf clams. The shells I gathered today, however, were stunning to me. Tumbled at the tide line, larger specimens than you normally find in the summer, and with some half-buried in snow, it was a perfect way to mark the seasonal seas of January here.

As I am a witch in all seasons, it's my hope that I'll be healed up quickly and able to get back to my own space in the next two weeks. I want to explore the tidal zone there, to see what the ocean will bring this winter, and of course, to spend time in the beautiful hush of a wintery, coastal forest.

How will you mark the magic of this month? Do you have your own rituals or sacred spaces hidden under the snows (if you're in an area where winter exists, that is!)? Let us know in the comments!