An obsidian mirror is not only a symbol printed on a cover. It is a real, physical thing, a piece of volcanic glass you can hold in your hand, polished until it shows you your own reflection in the dark. I have two large ones, both gifted rather than bought. One sits small enough to hold in my palm, given to me twenty years ago by a medium, a guide, a wise woman further along this path than I was then. The other is larger, resting on the earth beside the bath at the threshold of my own home, placed there by an energetic master as a marker of what crosses in and out. Obsidian moves through other forms too, a palm stone, an arrowhead, whatever shape the maker's hands found waiting in it.

This is a tool most of us were never taught to use, let alone gifted. This year asks you to learn it anyway, literally if a piece finds its way to you, metaphorically if it doesn't. This almanac is built to function as that mirror either way, something you can hold up and see yourself in across the next twelve months. But if a real one calls to you along the way, seek it out. Let it become part of how this year actually unfolds for you, not only something you read about.