Hearth Bread; Hearth Magic

Sometimes it is the most basic of things that build the foundation for something grand. There is a ritual to be found in baking, something that has a rhythm like the sway of woman's hips. Kneading is done in a rocking, turning motion and in it I find the steps of a slow, romantic dance. With warm water, salt, sugar, yeast and flour I can make dough. With heat and time it rises. I knead before the rising process and after, form the loaves and slash them with the Gebo, the Futhark rune for the Gift. Bread is food but this food is also gift. From my hand and from the Gods, from my good work and the money from that work. It was my pleasure to place this on my baking counter this morning, the warm smell of wheat and butter filling the kitchen and sneaking into the nooks and crannies of the house. I wrapped them in tin foil to keep them warm and seal in their flavor. In the spring, I purchased chives still on the blossom and diced the stalks. The green and purple interplay was lovely; the very breath of a living season. 

Hearth bread to me is the simplest of Hearth magic, the spirit and power found in the bounds of our homesteads and long halls. Little prayers and rituals that strengthen the bones of our homes and gives as much warmth as a fire to our hearts. The year spends itself down to Winter, the dying season is near at hand. My clansfolk hold true to the warmth and the old way, finding love in the fate we weave together like a cloth. As I slice this fine loaf and spread sweet butter across it, I watch my daughter and my chosen niece chase each other around the kitchen while my chosen sister and younger chosen niece doze on the loveseat. There is strong magic laced in the bones of this place. It's name is love, honor and knowledge. Would that all people were as blessed as I am.