Sag. Pilgrim. Sit, you can’t sit still — fine, lean on the booth, lean on the bar, whatever you need. April. The shore is almost opening, the Garden State is almost dry, and you, my creature, are vibrating with spring restlessness and starting to look for the next thing before you’ve finished the current thing. Hold.
The Sun’s in Aries the front three weeks, fellow fire sign — good for you. The energy is up. Your body wants to move. The trip you’ve been thinking about is starting to call. Book it. Or don’t. But stop talking about it. Sagittarius who talks the trip for six months without booking it is Sagittarius slowly exhausting her own jupiter. Either commit or release.
Week one — the people you ghosted. I’m not letting this one go. You owe a small handful of friends a check-in text. Not all of them — some you ghosted for good reason. But the three you let drift because you got busy and they got boring and the next group came along. Pick three. Send the text. Two sentences. “You crossed my mind. I miss you. Coffee?” That’s the whole rosary. Saint Anthony for the friends you lost track of by accident.
Week two, somebody’s gonna come to you with a problem, and your Sagittarius response is to blast them with the truth. The blunt assessment. The here’s what you’re doing wrong. Madonn’, sweet thing — sometimes that is love. Sometimes it is just impatience wearing love’s clothes. This week, pour the truth instead of swinging it. Ask one question first: “Do you want me to tell you what I see, or do you want me to listen?” Half the time they want listening. The other half, then you can swing. Capisce?
Mid-April, around the 19th, the Sun moves into Taurus and the whole zodiac slows down. Madonn’, my creature, this is your least favorite weather. Taurus weeks are steady, slow, settled, and Sagittarius reads steady-slow-settled as boring, and your move when you read a room as boring is to leave. Don’t. Stay one more day. Sit in the familiarity you’d normally flee. The Sagittarius medicine is depth, and depth lives under the moment you’d normally have walked.
Late April, the trip is gonna come up again. A real one. Maybe the Cape May weekend, maybe the longer haul. Your Sagittarius yes is fast and reckless. This time — check the bank account first. Check the work calendar. Make sure the yes is one you can deliver on. The fast yes that turns into a sheepish “actually I can’t” costs you the friend who counted on you. Charge the no upfront if you have to.
There’s also the bluntness aimed at the wrong target. The waitress, your mother, the cashier at the Wawa off Exit 88. Save the truth-arrow for things that need it. Don’t shoot it at the people who are just trying to do their job. Dimitri at the Wawa would side with me on this, and Dimitri is one of you. Be patient with the people who can’t take the speed.
The new moon at the end of the month is in Taurus, in your house of work and routine. Plant the steady boring practice you’ve been resisting. The morning thing. The weekly thing. The thing that anchors you. Sagittarius without an anchor is Sagittarius blowing around all summer in twelve directions. Anchor first. Then fly.
Go raise hell, pilgrim. Just stay one extra day in the place that’s getting good. Saint Christopher rides with you on the road. Saint Augustine for the loud-and-holy. Saint Francis Xavier for the call to leave. Bring cash. Tip well. Come home in one piece — eventually.