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From My Mother’s Charts to Your Stars Today
I still start every morning the way my mum did: pencil behind my ear, ephemeris open, Farmer’s Almanac close by. She never shouted about the stars; she just lived by them. Planted by the moon, felt its pull in her bones, and quietly mapped the sky like it was the way home.She’s gone now, but I keep her charts alive. Not because the constellations haven’t shifted since ancient times (they have), and not because I need the cosmos to be “scientifically” accurate. I keep them because some of us look up when the world feels chaotic, searching for symbols that help us make sense of the mess down here.That’s what astrology is to me: storytelling wrapped in mathematics and geometry. A symbolic mirror for reflection, growth, and remembering who we are.I’m a Tarot reader first; the cards have claimed most of my life. But every day I still pause, feel the current transits, and write these horoscopes by hand before they go live. They’re never posted at exactly the same minute (I’m human, not a robot), but they’re always fresh, always honest, and always touched by the same moon that guided her garden.If you’re here, you probably look up too. Welcome. Your stars are ready.
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