As I write, a few miles away witches and other pagans create altars they’ve imagined over the last months, witches in the choir prepare to perform the songs they’ve practiced, and witches collect the last few names of the Beloved Dead to be recited at this evening’s Spiral Dance. Last night above the towers of the Golden Gate I sat beneath the wild sky upon the Marin Headlands with witches as we honored their Beloved Dead. We heard a lot of names: the woman reading the list alone had lost six of her family this last year.