The world we inhabit is built on cycles of life and death and rebirth. We bear witness through unseeing eyes to the rise and fall and return of the moon, the tides, the seasons, our bodies. Yet resurrection remains a brutal story from a book we read once that we think bears no resemblance to our lives; to be observed with a toss of the head or chocolate bunnies.

The sun sweeping into Taurus is ever the grounding antidote to the Aries firestorm. We need the Ram's chutzpah and vim to put a rocket beneath us, drying our tears and heating us back up after nearly drowning in Pisces eclipse season. And then as the weeks roll by in a blur of imperatives and explosive breakthroughs, I crave the Venusian vibes that our little bull brings.