A ceiling of thorny branches obscure milky gray skies, tufts of new wild grass shoot indiscriminately here and there. A sooty ground is slowly turning into a playground for robins and squirrels. Blackbirds caw atop the roof of an old unused church. The tools from last summer’s painting project are stacked against the building’s back wall, covered in crusty leaves. The three-legged grill is rusted into one spot.
The sun rests wearily in Pisces. It’s a trans-figurative influence, traipsing with difficulty in a zone of monotony and death, purging cesspools of forgotten hope, ripe with an unsurprising mood. Nothing is disturbed, everything is stagnant with memories of first Aquarius, then Capricorn, Sagittarius, Scorpio, Libra, Virgo, Leo, Cancer, Gemini, Taurus, Aries. Pisces awaits its final day, to put the memories into their cubbies, to let the energy completely break itself down. All rest in their bunkers, like Aphrodite and Eros, waiting for the safety of spring’s dawning.
Underneath these heavy somber layers is some unsettled urgent chaos that cannot break from the Piscean cloak. The desire for peace is never matched, security always beyond grasp. The cycle perpetuates. Not until Spring’s equinox can a deliverance occur. Fields barren, minds drained, bellies sagging, lips unquenched. All under the Piscean guise march drearily to a death, a funeral song. The apex approaches. It will always happen this way.
The vines growing along the tree turn from fragile veins to supple toadstool covered fingers, crawling and reaching upward. Little violet flowers peep out along the sidewalk’s edge. Trees lining the street begin to burst with trembling green buds. Birds swoon to one another in glorious, fluting cadence. Honeysuckle creeps in along every fence and border, bounteous with unrelenting steadfast, the eve to the coming influence. The air is saturated, dense with perspiration that has built since November. The earth’s body odor creates reactionary fits.
The sun bursts from its melancholy into a vibrant position honed only by Aries. A spirit of unique newness spawns and awakens the rust, the fragility, the oldness. A daring bet to survive the cycle again is placed by the Aries sunrises, with a bouncy, clean, childish grin. Activity once solemn becomes seemingly abruptly refreshed. And so again, it will go.
