The Cold Of The Capricorn in anticlimatic

These two weeks between new years and my birthday are hard on me. I think I take it out on people around, so I steer clear of folks I know. Makes it harder.

It’s tough because the holidays are a depressing burnout enough as it is, and to linger for yet a couple weeks longer in some kind of imminent anticipation for yet another alleged celebration is a hard ask. Especially here, in the bleak northern whiteness of midwinter where the smiles are as scant as the grass.

It’s interesting to share a birthday with the year, in a way- not to the day, but in a certain range. I wonder how much of astrology can be attributed to how the seasons lay upon the story arc, beginning and ending with the Sign date in question.

I, Capricorn, begin my story in the post-holiday dead of winter, and spend the entire first act in this dark and brutal ice world. In the second act of the play, spring arrives and our hero is suddenly introduced to a world of beauty and gentleness that we never knew existed. It matures and ripens and distracts almost long enough to forget our cold and bitter roots, but as autumn reddens the leaves and winds shift from the north, the third act opens to the reminder of the bleak winter of our youths set to return, so just before the end of our lives- as the snow begins to fall once again- we celebrate hard, Harvest Feast after Holiday Feast after New Years Feast, and at last rejoin the circle where once it began, it the dark and in the cold.

Tell me that’s not a story to make a Capricorn.

Last updated January 07, 2023