Tonight we usher in a new moon in Capricorn, just as we land at the midpoint of Mercury retrograde in the same sign. This is an opportunity to set soul goals—nothing pedestrian, mind you, but the deepest shit, the common denominator of our many incarnations, the stuff we were put on Earth this time around to accomplish. Questions to ask: What do my head and heart agree I should do? How am I best of service? Cardinal Capricorn is the make-it-happen-captain energy, and with Sun, Moon, and Mercury retrograde currently in this sign, it’s high time to figure out how to put your meaning where your money is—or at least your money where your mouth is. Enjoy the vibration, because god knows you have no choice but to submit to its ancient, Saturnine lessons. As a Capricorn with an appreciation for the absurd, I love this moment madly. So the brilliant witch Cat Cabral and I read each other’s cards and called each other’s bluff among a swoon of roasted chicken, vino, candles, and a certain overfamiliar presiding for good measure. This is how you walk the Cappie talk: Embrace your coven, release what doesn’t shine on your celestial frequency, and, for heaven’s sake, say it, don’t spray it.
I wake to find the world wildly simplified. Snow has blanketed every surface; the heavens are grey and emptying. My permakitten raises her head and drapes a paw over my shoulder. “You’re not going out there,” she’s saying, but I am realizing there is no coffee in the house. The world is thus more simplified: Must fetch coffee. In a stupor, I don layers of warm not itchy, curse myself for failing to pull parka from storage, add to daunting to-do list. I do not forget gloves. I do not forget scarf. I forget socks. The only open cafe is a half mile away. I begin my trek. The sidewalks are not plowed. The streets are. I walk in the middle of streets, ignoring cars honking as they inch by. Simple. Must fetch coffee. At the coffee shop I order, sip, look at raw, cold ankles. “Oh my god,” says the barrista, looking too. I blink twice. Back I go, coffee in paw, croissant in pocket. Simple. Through the elements, wet cold dark. On my block, I fumble for key, force open door, try not to wake sleeping neighbors. My apartment is strewn with work and unhappiness but it is shelter and it is mine. Out of cold wet I strip; into bed I climb with coffee croissant cat. There is nowhere I must be and I am warm and safe. I am lucky and I know it.