Each wish jar begins with a patient kind of magic. When the dandelions have shed their golden crowns, I coax their fragile puffs to hold their shape—layer by gentle layer of mist and air. Once dried and wired, they’re nestled beneath glass with moss and foraged wonders, gathered from my garden and wanderings alike, waiting for their moment to dream again.
For the other elements, I gather what the earth offers freely: fallen feathers, shed bark, the forest’s own castoffs. When I must take from the living, it’s only a careful handful, never enough to harm what still grows.
