Be it known to all that the circle is now to be drawn,” stated the slight, robed figure as she raised her arms upward to the sky. Her dainty hands held tight to the leather bound handle of a dirk, its brightly polished blade reflecting the light of the full moon high above. “Let no one be here but of their own free will. Blessed be.”

“So mote it be” came a solemn chant in unison from the coven members gathered around her.

The air was still in the large, semi-wooded Saint Louis backyard as the Priestess slowly and purposefully drew the ceremonial knife, her athame, through the air above her, scribing a five-pointed star, starting and ending with the top point. With the imaginary Pentacle drawn, she fluidly lowered the dirk and brought her arms to rest outstretched before her and pointing to the East.

“R.J.,” she said to the young man directly before her. “Would you please light the circle candles?”

The young man gave a perceptible nod and pulled back the hood of his robe to reveal his mane of long black hair. Turning, he struck the end of a wooden fireplace match, bringing it to life, and as the flame settled to evenness, merged it with the wick of a yellow votive candle resting in a homemade stand.

“At the East, I bring light and air to our circle,” spoke the strawberry-blonde priestess from the center of the group. “All hail the Watchtower of the East, element of air. May it watch over us in our circle. Blessed be.”

“Blessed be,” chanted the gathering around her.

The young man worked his way to the South, and touched the burning match to a red votive.

“At the South, I bring light and fire to our circle” came the priestess as she made a clockwise quarter turn. “All hail the Watchtower of the South, element of fire. May it watch over our circle. Blessed be.”