Before I have too much time to think about it, I find myself under an apple tree on a rainy October evening, offering up thanks to the Goddess for a beautiful full moon.

My fellow witches are a varied group. Lola (her ceremonial witch name, not her showgirl name) is a city employee, and is warm, motherly, and full of smiles. White Deer (also, to state the obvious, her witch name) is an anthropologist who carries herself with reserve and dignity. Trey Capnerhurst, my hostess for the evening, is keenly intelligent and full of zeal for her chosen path. And Maenwen, Trey’s beautiful eight-year-old daughter, is a child who makes you believe in fairies, and who is joining the all-adult ritual for the first time.

She says to me, blinking from the hood of her purple cloak, “This is my first full moon ritual.”

“Mine too,” I confess.

“Really?” she says to me, confusion flashing across her face. “But you’re old.”

“Yes,” I tell her. “Can you believe I’m 20 years old and have never been to a full moon ritual?” I don’t tell her I’m knocking a decade or so off my age.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s really old.”

We gather in a semicircle in Trey’s backyard under the aforementioned apple tree. I’m dressed in the witchiest apparel I have in my closet: a long, ruffled summer dress and a pashmina against the chill. But it seems to pass muster, and the dress code isn’t strict. Although Trey and White Deer are more traditionally garbed — Trey in a long green dress (remember, Trey is a Green Witch), and White Deer in an embroidered blue velvet robe. Lola is comfortable in jeans and a sweater.

The ritual starts with Lola casting the circle, which means she invokes the four elements and the four directions, and welcomes us into the circle of protection. We light candles, each of us touching our specially inscribed ceremonial wick into Trey’s flame. I’ve carved the word “create” into the green wax of my candle to help me harness the creative energies of the Goddess and the full moon. Or something like that.

We take some time to appreciate the moon.

So far, I’m digging all of this. I can’t remember the last time I was outside on a rainy fall night, staring at the sky. Usually I’m too busy. Or it’s cold outside. Or I’d rather watch TV. I like that I’m welcoming the feeling of the gentle rain on my face. I’m not ducking the drops or trying not to let it wreck my hair. So far, so good.

Next we light a small fire. Each of us has written an intention on a piece of paper — an intention we will burn to release to the Goddess. I’m asking for creative inspiration and discipline, and as I turn my burning paper upside down, and the flames lick my hand, I imagine I’m sitting at my computer, my fingers flying across the keyboard. I actually feel a bit excited, like I can’t wait to get home to write. I feel like the magic is already working. Then I feel a bit sheepish at my own flakiness. But whatever. Tonight I will embrace my inner flake.

After everyone has burned their intentions, we share an apple. White Deer uses her ceremonial knife to cut the apple in half. We marvel at the beauty of the half-cut apple, and its inner five-pointed star, to be cut in five portions for five witches. Beauty and balance.

And we celebrate with ceremonial wine. Organic wine, of course. Trey toasts us all, and then Maenwen, “our youngest witch,” and then me, “our newest witch.” We all drink, except Maenwen, who doesn’t like the wine.

I admit to feeling strangely misty. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe I’m a lunatic, in the truest full moon sense of the word. Or maybe there’s some magic in the air.

And then the singing starts. “And the full moon is a vagina spread wide.”

Okay. Yes, the full moon is all about the power of femininity. Trey and I even had a conversation about “moon blood” (which is exactly what you’re afraid it might be) before the ritual began. But I have to admit, the “vagina moon song” has lost me, and I struggle to keep focus now.

And then the singing stops, and the ceremony is drawing to a close. All that’s left is to release the circle before we go on with our night. Trey asks for volunteers. For some reason, maybe to prove I’m a quick study, maybe to experience the ritual to its fullest, I tentatively offer to do the honours. I immediately regret my words, thinking “What right have I? Am I seriously intruding here?”

But modern witchcraft is welcoming and inclusive, and so are the witches I’m with tonight. They all help me as I stumble through the four elements and the four directions, and as I try to express how I feel in the moment, again I find myself near tears.

We all gather inside, warm and only slightly damp as the wind and rain pick up outside, as though Mother Nature was holding back until we had finished our ritual. We eat sweet bread and homemade herbal candies and vegan fudge. We finish the organic wine. We discuss the vagaries of the prices of real estate and Edmonton transit and children’s storybooks. I’m sad when the evening draws to a close, and that I must leave the warmth of the circle and my new witch friends.