skylawks

We have an A. Ladies and Gentlemen. We have our first A.

Left thumb over the hole on the back. First two fingers on the top two holes. Three new moons. (Waxing crescent, gibbous, disseminating, balsamic fingers make not an A but a squeak, a squawk, a bat's cat call, an irresistible play dead to a deaf dog.)

And tight spastic fingers can do it. It takes longer. It's too clenched, too brittle, too first quarter for instant A.

But the A, when it happens, is sweeter.

But then, is there anything salty, lemon juice, deaf dog sweeter than a tumbled slightly farted room of seven and eight year olds having their first recorder lesson with the school's batshit crazy and very nice recorder aficionado?

Afterwards, pressed into the soft tip pad of the left thumb, the first two fingers, are three full moons.

Next week: G.

with your fetlocks blowing in the

wind.

Transiting Neptune hooches up to natal Mercury this year. Look who turned up last night, said they were here for the longterm:





Bugger me. Which would be a transit of a different colour.

Hello hello. Good to see you. Honest. Is there anything I could do? Shall I put the kettle on? What d'ya fancy? Tea? Coffee? Something light and China might be good in that hunk of gold you're carrying? Sorry? Oh, wine it is, then. Ching.

I could be doing with some bigtime clear roadsigns for the next year or so.

oh i say

We forgot big shed

poop poop

This year I must move. I must start to move and keep moving. I must keep moving.

Last year scares me: no movement, no momentum. Nothing to report.

Another year of last year just would not do. Years of last year would be the death of me. Seize. Congeal. Ossify.

This year I must move. I must.