thewitchlingshelf | 🕯️ The Pressed Petal Pages

The light feels different after the solstice.

The longest day has passed, but the light still lingers — golden and thick as honey where it falls through the lace curtains. My reading nook, just beside the window, has shifted slightly since the solstice. The books have grown softer in tone, the teacups linger longer, and everything smells faintly of lavender and old pages.

On the nightstand:

A worn copy of The Night Circus, spine creased with affection
A pressed petal journal, tucked beneath a small stack of tea-stained letters
A bottle labeled moonlight (really: glitter, rosemary, and memory)
A beeswax candle, burnt low — I light it before reading anything sacred

I’ve draped a light scarf over the lamp to dim the glow — just enough to blur the edges of the room and let the stories speak louder. There’s rosemary in the window, for courage. A single moth-wing charm tucked into my current bookmark.

This is the season for slow enchantments. For books that whisper in silver. For reading with bare feet against cool floorboards while the sun dips low and the shadows stretch like ribbon.

If you visited, I’d make you lavender and vanilla tea, and let you choose a book from the shelf — any book that glows when you touch it.

I think this is my favourite way to mark the turning — quietly, with books and candles, with light that lasts just a little longer than it did yesterday