Oh no, I thought I had outgrown the nonsense ability to be affected by a horoscope, but boy, did I just get called out on some dumb Mercury retrograde weekly garbage for my sign. It was all about sweetness, heaviness, and sadness, and the mixture of home with these concepts - people assuming you don't care so much and caring so much. The ability to keep heaviness at bay through ritual, or to turn a spell around.

The wording for turning spells around made me smile, because I even bought the quite expensive and rare components for curse breaking after the last really bad yellowjacket swarm this fall, but decided not to use them, to instead, stay curious and feel out that energy in my life. To engage with it, kind of the way I think I've played with spookiness in my own house in the past - maybe even won it over a little bit. I don't know. 

It reminded me of something I have in one of the poems I wrote in college: my breasts are just fistfuls of wasps. Heavy-handed, clumsy verse. But still.

If the next time I go out to the woods, I fall into a fucking grave of yellow jackets which finally sting me enough times to kill my allergic body, I'll be grateful for a few things - among them, heavy sweetness.

Grateful honorable mention to the day going to my crows (eyeroll, yes, this seems to be 1. a crow blog 2. an insane person's blog) who saw me out on my run and rose up all together out of a distant low place in the graveyard into a giant cloud of birds. They swooped made a wide arc, and then it was 15-20 birds all flying directly at me and landing all around me like falling stars. (Fat, feathered stars, who know I'm carrying trimmings off the roast for them. Who is the poet now?)