When the last apples have fallen and the fields stand empty, something in the air changes. The evenings arrive early, the fog lingers over the meadows, and the world feels a little thinner, as if you could reach out and touch something that is usually just out of reach. This is Samhain, and for me it is the most important night of the witch's year.
Samhain is not simply an older name for Halloween. It has its own meaning and its own quiet power, and it deserves to be talked about on its own terms.
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What Is Samhain?
Samhain is a Gaelic festival celebrated from sunset on October 31st into November 1st. It marks the end of the harvest and the beginning of the dark half of the year. For many witches and pagans today, it is also the witch's new year: the moment the wheel of the year turns and one cycle ends so another can begin.
It is believed that at Samhain the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead grows thin. It is a night for remembering those who came before us, for speaking to our ancestors, for divination, and for honest reflection on what we are ready to let go.
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A Night Between Worlds
In witchcraft, the crossroads is a place of power: a liminal space between worlds, between what was and what is becoming. It is where decisions are made, where spirits gather and where magic is strongest. Samhain is a crossroads in time.
That is what Crossroads holds for me. The dome is divided, one side in pink and violet summer blooms, the other in the orange, red and gold of autumn with a small carved pumpkin. At the centre, a nutria skull holds a flower in its jaws, with a Speckled Wood butterfly resting on top, while a shed snakeskin winds through the whole composition as a reminder that transformation is not loss, but continuation. A place where two worlds meet, and neither one wins.
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The Death of the Year
Samhain is the moment the year dies, not as an ending, but as a transformation. The harvest is in, the light is fading, and everything settles into the dark to wait for rebirth.
Mors Autumnalis, The Death of Autumn, is exactly that moment under glass. A real cat skull cradles a pine cone in its jaw and carries a real preserved Ambragaeana ambra cicada, wings spread in amber and shadow, while mummified bird feet grip its cheekbones. Around them lie a shed snake skin, moss and dried botanicals in deep red, burgundy, gold and rust. The pine cone waits in the jaw, patient as a seed that knows it will outlast the winter.
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Divination on the Thinnest Night
Because the veil is thin, Samhain has long been a night for divination: reading cards, scrying, watching candle flames, asking questions and listening carefully to the answers.
Lunaris Divination carries that spirit. A real mink skull, halved and mirrored on royal purple velvet, is framed by pentacle charms and a crystal quartz crescent moon in an ornate black baroque frame. Symmetry, the moon and the pentacle: the quiet geometry of a witch looking for answers.
Arcanum is different from the other pieces here: I created it as an altar piece, a functional ritual object for your readings. It is a tarot and oracle card holder built around a real cat skull embracing an amethyst pendulum, with amethyst, rose quartz and clear quartz stones, moon phase detailing and two obsidian crow figurines. In its story, the cat guards the veil between the seen and the unseen, and every reading becomes a small ritual. On Samhain night, I can't think of a better place to lay your cards.
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Candles for the Dark Half
Samhain opens the long nights, and candlelight is how we keep company with them, and with our dead.
Nox Solitudinis, The Night of Solitude, is built around that feeling. A pale crow skull rises in the centre, crowned with hand-carved black horns and a small silver raven skull on its forehead, surrounded by black vampire candles with deep red cores, wax dripping in frozen rivers. Before it rests a quartz crystal orb on a gilded stand, with crossed scrolls, a small bloody bottle, a miniature skull and a wax rose on black shimmering sand. It is a quiet, solitary night made visible.
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The Familiar Who Gathers
Samhain is also the final harvest: the time to gather what the year has given and prepare for winter. No one understands that better than a familiar.
In Wild Familiar a real wild mouse skeleton rests in a mahogany-stained wooden box, surrounded by lichens, mushrooms, ferns and moss. Tiny glass vials hold snake shed, tiger's eye chips, fox teeth and jay feathers, and a small bird's claw holds a stone. In her story, she gathered all of it, not for herself but for the one she belonged to. A familiar does not question. It gathers. It prepares.
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Remembering What Came Before
At its heart, Samhain is a festival of remembrance. We light candles for our dead, set a place at the table for those who are gone, and speak their names out loud.
The Forest Keeps is my small piece of that feeling. A real mink skull rests in living-green moss and lichen, among dried mushrooms, wildflowers, a snail shell, star anise, cinnamon and raw crystals, in an aged black and gold baroque frame. The forest does not forget. It keeps what it takes: a portrait of everything that lived there once, and chose to stay.
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Your Own Samhain
Apart from Arcanum, which I made as an altar piece, I create these pieces as decor, not as ritual objects made for a specific deity. But what a piece becomes in your home is up to you. If one of them finds a place on your Samhain altar, beside your candles, photographs and offerings for your ancestors, that meaning comes from you and your practice.
However you mark this night, with a full ritual, a single candle or a quiet walk through the fallen leaves, I hope you take a moment to remember, to let go, and to step into the new year gently.
Blessed Samhain,
Kika