Taurus, my creature. Sit. I’m pouring. I know the spring rain hasn’t quite let up yet — I can hear it on the awning of the dive bar in Asbury where I’m writing this — and I know April makes you slow in a way that looks like sluggishness from the outside but is actually the deep work of getting ready for your season. The Sun crosses into your sign on the 19th. Until then, you are germinating. Don’t apologize for it.
The first half of the month, sweet thing — somebody’s gonna try to rush you. A decision, a yes, a commitment. Madonn’. The fastest way to lose a Taurus is to push her, and the world has not learned this lesson in three thousand years. Hold the line. “I’ll let you know by Sunday.” That’s a complete sentence. They can wait. If they can’t, they weren’t your people.
Week one is for the small home things, my child. The cabinet that’s been broken since February. The pile of mail you’ve been moving from the table to the counter to the table. The plant that’s almost dead and could be saved with one good watering and a window. Taurus is the steward of the physical world, and an unattended physical world is a Taurus with low-grade anxiety she can’t name. Take an afternoon. Put on the music you actually like. Tend.
Week two — money conversation. The bills, the budget, the thing you’ve been avoiding looking at. You’re not in trouble. You’re just behind on knowing. Sit down with a glass of wine and the actual numbers. The not-knowing is what’s keeping you up. The knowing — even if the numbers are ugly — is what lets you sleep. Saint Anthony for the receipts you’ve lost track of in the drawer.
Mid-month, around the 19th, the Sun comes home to Taurus and you come home to Taurus. The energy shift is physical — your appetite comes back, your sleep gets deeper, the music sounds better. This is your season opening. Use it. Throw a small dinner. Six people, the good plates, something braised. Open the wine you’ve been “saving.” You weren’t saving it for a special occasion, my creature. You are the special occasion.
Late April there’s an old friend you’ve been avoiding — not for a real reason, just because you’ve been holding a small grudge about a thing they said in November. Sweetheart. Madonn’, you’ve been holding the grudge longer than they were even mad about the original thing. Send the text. Two sentences. “Been thinking about you. Coffee Sunday?” That’s the whole prayer. Saint Anthony for the friends you’ve lost track of on purpose. Pride is the cheapest reason to lose a person.
The new moon at the end of the month is in your sign. That’s a once-a-year event for you, sinner. Whatever you start in the days around it has root structure. Don’t waste it on the loud ambitious thing — you’re not built for that anyway. Plant the small slow real thing. The garden, the practice, the relationship, the routine. The Taurus seed grows for thirty years. Plant it right.
Stay in your seat, dirty Madonna. The world will come to you if it’s any good. Pour the wine. Set the table even if nobody’s coming. Saint Therese rides with you on the slow days. Saint Cecilia rides with you when the music’s right. Don’t let anybody rush you. Capisce?