The Two Year Winter

A Cunning Man's Journal

I’ve always had a gift for seeing the future. It’s never been a question of if, only when. To peer around a corner in time and know what awaits, yet still be forced to wait for it to unfold—that is a special kind of patience. Lately, I’ve felt the stirrings of something big, a turning energy that seems to be growing stronger by the day.

The change I’ve seen looming around 2026 is no longer a distant vision. It’s starting now, here in 2024, with subtle shifts in people, in the world around us. The pieces are falling into place, as they must, for the reality to take shape. This century, the 21st, will be a time of immense transformation. History books will mark it as such, no doubt. But I’m less concerned with the grand sweep of humanity and more with the local, personal changes that are beginning to crack the surface. There is a deep winter coming, one that I believe will last for two long years. Not a winter of snow and ice alone, but of darkness—of hibernation, if you will. The kind of cold that forces everything to pause, to still, while the saplings grow under frost, biding their time until the thaw. I feel this not only in my own life, but in the lives of those magical folk around me.

There’s a sense of contraction, of withdrawal into deeper, more solitary work. Whether we all stay the course together, or if some of us will retreat into our own larger, private workings without confiding in one another, remains to be seen. It’s a personal choice, after all. Magic has always been a balance of the collective and the individual. There is one witch in particular—someone I know well—who has been delaying her great works for too long. Bigger, more dangerous projects she’s pushed aside, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of complacency. But now I sense that her hand is being forced. The spirits will wait no longer. They are patient, yes, but only to a point. If the mundane aspects of her life stand in the way, they will be swept aside. Her journey will continue, whether she likes it or not. The rabbit hole only goes deeper from here, and I believe she knows it. Meanwhile, I’ve noticed a curious interest in magic and the so-called paranormal among the mundanes around me.

It could just be the thinning of the veils—October has a way of awakening that in people. It’s that time of year when the air grows thick with possibility, when those with even the slightest inclination toward the unseen start to sense something. I’ve wondered if any of them will feel the true call and find themselves drawn toward the craft. I had hoped at least two would, but I’ve learned not to place too much hope in others as I’ve grown older. It’s not wise to gamble on whether someone has the guts to go through initiation. There’s always a chance, but more often than not, they fall short.

October has always been my favourite time of year. The air smells different, charged with mystery and potential. But these next two Octobers will be special. I feel it in my bones—a changing of the guard in some of our traditions. New blood stepping into old shoes, some of us stepping aside, and others digging deeper into their power. It’s the way of things, after all. Magic moves in cycles, just like the seasons. I wonder who will stay, and who will leave the path behind. The time for waiting is nearly over. Whatever comes next, I’ll be ready. For now, I’ll enjoy the crispness of the air, the turning of the leaves, and the knowledge that the future I’ve always seen is finally coming into view.