And so I leave them. For now they become shelter for insects, food for birds, and simply pretty flowers that don’t need to meet the standards of harvesting to sell.

Every year when this happens there’s a little bit of sadness in my heart, as I know that soon the entire garden will be put to rest. But I think that’s also the beauty of September and this time of year.

The weather is still warm and could easily confuse us for earlier summer days, the leaves are all green and intact on the trees, the nights are full of crickets and peepers sounding off. The garden is still beautiful by all accounts. Yet there are also the small signs of fall starting to show.

The goldenrod is in full bloom, the clouds look ever-so-different across the blue sky… carrying with them a bit more drama perhaps. The sun is setting around the 8 o’clock hour which feels like the first time you really notice that the days are getting shorter. The garden is showing signs of tiring.

And soon, even the more concrete signs of fall will start to show up.

September is a true transition month, as the mutable Virgo season carries us well into the month, and we not only see that around us reflected in the natural world but I think we can feel it, too. In our day-to-day routines, in our energy, in our focus, in the things we start to crave, in the foods we want to eat… and so on.

So here are some of the wonders I’m appreciating most this month - plus the cycles of the season that make it magical.

The Wonders of September

• Cooler weather: The type of weather that makes you want to wear a light sweater and a pair of jeans. When a morning and evening walk are fresh. When the windows are open day and night with breezes blowing through the house as if saying “it’s time for a change, let me help clear some space”. In my personal opinion, these are the best temperatures of the year.

• Bonfires: With the cooler weather coming in, bonfires feel a bit cozier this time of year. And perhaps it’s the witchy woman in me, but I also think they feel a bit more magical this time of year, too.

• Rainstorms: In Michigan, fall is a notorious time for strong rains. They serve as this final quenching of sorts for the plants before they become dormant over the winter. Like a last big drink to help sustain them over the winter.

• Changing Leaves: It won’t be long before there will be a colorful kaleidoscope of leaves amongst the trees and foliage. I feel fortunate to be in an area that experiences such vibrant fall colors (to the point people plant trips and vacations around them), and while October is really the “peak” color for our area, September begins the process.

• Spiderwebs: Stepping out into the garden in the morning, just as the sun peaks over the trees, and there are always a few new glistening webs. Covered in morning dew that make every fine strand stand out, they’ll capture my attention for minutes on end. To think of how tiny their owners are yet they’re able to weave these intricate traps without any outside assistance or supplies is something of a natural miracle.

• Seedheads: In the garden and along the sides of the roads, seedheads are forming from summer blooms. It’s the time when I’ll start to save seeds from my own plants to use next year, while leaving plenty for the birds and other critters, too.

• Winter Squash: The farmer’s markets start to noticeably shift this season. The harvest moves from the sweet summer delicacies like berries and soft vegetables to those that feel a bit more substantial for the season. Winter squash (a.k.a your butternut, acorn, delicata… to name a few) start showing up ready to be roasted, pureed, turned into soups, etc. A true sign that the month is ushering us towards fall.

September is the month that starts to shift us towards fall. Feeling gratitude for the summer and the experiences, memories, lessons, and life we take from it… while also opening ourselves up to what’s in store for the next season.

The cycles of the month:

• September 10 - New Moon in Virgo: A time to think through our lives with a more analytical eye and to set intentions around the routines that sustain us, versus those that don’t. To recognize how we serve ourselves, so that we can serve others, too.

• September 22 - Libra season begins: The season of harmony, balance, beauty and connection… and of justice and diplomacy, too. One of the relational air signs that reminds us of the part we have to play in our community and relationships.

• September 26 - The Harvest (or Corn) Moon (Full Moon in Aries): A time to think about the growth we’ve been doing as individuals since spring, to celebrate what that’s looked like, and to let go of anything that keeps us from moving forward boldly. Just as the corn has reached maturity and is ready to harvest after growing all spring, we’ve also grown in the last six months… this is a time to honor that .

Wherever you are and whatever September looks like in your area, I hope that you find your own moments of magic and wonder this month. Moments to notice the transitions taking place… around you and also in your day-to-day life. It’s a month to embrace the shifts, for they come with their own lessons and experiences, and to remind ourselves that change is simply a part of any process.

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (or Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Guidance

• Growing Resources

But I sometimes feel like they end up scaring people or creating so much energy around them that people fear them. And way back in the day before we understood what actually took place during an eclipse, I can absolutely understand why the sun or moon being blocked out was a thing of terrors.

We’ve come a long way since then though. And I don’t think they need to carry any sort of “fear” with them.

Because at the end of the day eclipses are here to help us on our path. Truly.

This eclipse in Pisces in particular is one of a culmination… an ending of sorts.

But endings aren’t inherently bad.

Endings are the connection point to the beginning.

It’s not that an ending doesn’t come with challenges or valid emotions, because that’s real. Endings can also come with epiphanies or breakthroughs or realizations or revelations or… you get the idea. But it’s often those things that usher towards something new.

If you look at Prices as the last line of the zodiac, it’s not the last sign and then nothing, done, the end. It’s the last sign (connected to the 12th house) that ushers us into the beginning again.

It ushers us into a new cycle and ushers us into a new beginning. And yes, it can usher us into something unknown, and that can be uncomfortable.

But at the same time, the cycle is always building on itself, so we’re never really starting from scratch or true “unknown”, right?

There’s always history. There’s experience. There’s wisdom that we’ve earned through the previous cycle and through the cycle before that… and it’s all layering and building onto one another.

This eclipse is ending the cycle that we’ve been in since 2024 and before that it was a cycle between 2006-2008 and before that it was the cycle between 1987-1989. They’re building on one another. So if you think about the building right

One of the names of this moon is the Sturgeon Moon. Funny enough, my aunt just shared an article about how new research suggests these incredible freshwater beasts could live up to 400 years. Can you even imagine the things it’s seen and the cycles it’s experienced?

The years, the decades, the centuries even… the changes in the water and the shifts in the currents.

There’s wisdom that it’s earned by being a part of that over the course of its lifetime. And that’s not something to push aside.

And it’s a connector not only because of seeing those cycles, but also because it’s a bottom here.

It’s this docile, gentle giant that hangs out in the depths and in the darkness and the places where not many people go looking for its sustenance. And then it comes up into the shallower waters some point to spawn and to carry its cycle on.

It connects these two pieces of the water, the depths and then the shallows… the darkness where you can’t see what’s on the bottom floor and then the light that’s comes in from the sun is glistening high in the sky.

There’s some other energy in this eclipse though, too… Uranus.

Uranus is the disruptor. It’s rebellious and it wants to come in and shake things up. And sometimes that can feel scary. Sometimes it can be scary. Sometimes we can feel uneasy about it, nervous and anxious… but also sometimes excited.

Sometimes we need that to happen. We need the shake up in order to connect things. And we also need shaking up sometimes so that we move off the track we thought we were headed or to allow an ending to actually take place.

Uranus coming in isn’t saying “I’m going to mess it all up” but rather, “hey, it can be tricky to accept change and surrender… and you know what, I’m in your corner and I’m going to help you do this”.

Mercury - the messenger - is also in the mix here, and it’s helping us understand what our emotional currents are trying to share with us.

So what are your emotions communicating? And what insights that have come through based on those emotional undercurrents?

What have you been feeling that has maybe served its course and is ready to move on from? What’s meant to not necesarily move on from, but to move forward with. To take the lessons and experiences and wisdom (especially from the past two years) and carry into the next beginning.

What’s asking for your surrender right now so that life evolves?

If you’re seeing the hype about this eclipse and feeling any sort of uneasiness about it, know this:

There’s no action you need to take right now. Save the rituals and the big manifestations for the next moon.

Instead, just pay attention. Be present in your day. Take a minute to sit with questions without even needing to have an answer.

Because sometimes the biggest lesson is knowing that we don’t need to have the answers in order to move forward. Sometimes we just need to have compassion for ourselves and for the situation… and know that we’ll figure it out because we’ve been somewhere similar in this cycle before.

Until next time,

Rebecca

It also means I’m making sure to harvest at the right time of day and at the right time of their growing cycle so they’re hydrated and will provide a nice, long vase life. For example, during peony season, I’ve been known to drive to the field (25 minutes away from my house) two-to-three times a day for a week straight in order to cut them at the “perfect” marshmallow stage. A slightly extreme example, I know, but it’s been my reality.

Even still, with all of the prep and planning and effort and attention, throughout the season so many get left behind or cut for my own personal enjoyment because they aren’t good enough for bouquets.

The Case Against Perfectionism

There is a common argument and feeling of perfection being unattainable and quite frankly, unhelpful to our lives. That it’s a made-up construct with roots in capitalism and patriarchy that keeps us consuming and striving and spending, which also keeps us in a perpetual state of never truly accepting ourselves as we are and in many cases (because we’re human), sets us up for failure. I agree with all of that.

I’d also suspect that in most cases, the reasons for striving towards perfection are (most often) well-intentioned. To succeed, for recognition, for acceptance, for love…

And then on the other side of things, I think for many of us who are against the concept of perfectionism (or working to detach ourselves from its constant grasp) we find comfort in knowing that we can be human, make mistakes, be authentic, and try our best without the constant need to get it right all the time.

And, ironically enough, I would suspect the reasons we have for embracing imperfection are for the same reasons previously listed… success, recognition, acceptance and love for who we are naturally.

But I often wonder if maybe we’re missing something.

What We Should Be Focused on Instead

Maybe, like so many things, it’s not the culmination of reaching perfection but the process of getting there that provides the value.

And maybe, that process is really just about having standards that we set for ourselves over and over again when it comes to how we show up in the world, how we care for ourselves, how we relate to others, how we do our work, how we look at ourselves, etc. Standards that are chosen repeatedly, which means the value wasn’t in some perfect end result, but in the practice of choosing.

And if we don’t have standards, what do we end up settling for?

Our standards can be different and our reasons for them can be individual, but the connecting piece is that there’s something important about holding ourselves accountable to our lives. And standards do that.

Let’s take the example of growing flowers.

For some growers, the standard set might be flawless flowers and that might mean using pesticides to make sure that pests don’t interfere, fertilizer pumps through irrigation lines, and any sign of fungal disease gets a chemical treatment.

For others, the standard is to grow beautiful blooms without any negative impact to the natural world they’re a part of. That means not using chemical pesticides, herbicides, fungicides or fertilizers on their plants or in their growing spaces.

Each one is a standard set… but all they’re really doing is saying “I want to hold myself accountable to this because it means something to me”.

(Note: There’s plenty of nuance in these examples and there isn’t always such contrast in growing approaches, but for the sake of this piece, let’s go with it).

The Value of Standards

Standards aren’t a bad thing. In fact, I’d argue that right now we would benefit from having more standards in place for how people operate (I’ll stay off my political soapbox here 😉).

Standards come from our experiences in life. The times when things went wrong and when things went right. From the relationships we’ve experienced, the jobs we’ve held, the people we’ve connected with, the places we’ve lived.

They’ve come from how we’ve been treated, how we’ve worked, how we’ve shown up, how we’ve been cared for… and all of that counts for something.

Standards are the takeaways from what we have learned when it comes to how we operate in life.

It’s only when we let the standards consume us, when they become impossible to achieve, or when we miss the point of them entirely that we lose their value of their lesson.

Until next time,

Rebecca

P.S. Is there a place in life where it feels like you’re striving for perfection where in fact, you’re just looking to set standards for yourself?

What’s Stirring These Thoughts

We’re in Virgo season, and Virgo energy wants us to be efficient and organized and analytical when it comes to our work, health, routines and life in general. But sometimes that can spill over into striving for perfection because we think that’s the answer. To be so efficient that we don’t leave any space for being human. For being so analytical and using our discernment for what works and what doesn’t that we miss the lesson in the process entirely. Virgo’s real gift isn’t getting it right or perfect… it’s knowing what’s worth refining and what’s worth letting be.

This gorgeous plant was feeding nature just as I had hoped, but watching it actually happen felt even more satisfying. It was a moment where I recognized that a small and seemingly insignificant thing I did months ago is actually having an impact on the greater good (a welcome win nowadays).

Anise Hyssop has a number of uses, and I’d actually cut a few stems from this plant a couple days ago because I’d thought about adding some to flower arrangements and also because I wanted to try drying some (as I’ve read it’s a solid plant to have in a home apothecary).

But when I saw the birds feasting I decided that instead of harvesting more I’d leave them for the birds and pollinators. I have a deep appreciation for the flowers that serve multiple purposes. Not that flowers need to have additional reasons to be useful outside of simply being beautiful, but in a small space and for someone who always wants to plant more than I have room for, the multipurpose blooms reign supreme. And these plants do just that… they look and smell lovely, they’re sustenance and nutritional support for other creatures, and because of that they serve much more than just their own good.

Since I had cut a few stems though already, I took a minute to look at them. And I mean, really look at them… to inspect them, ponder them, become intrigued by them. The way the petals seem to branch out in a perfect linear fashion, the way the seeds line up in a satisfying geometric pattern, the way the stems are a sturdy (yet hollow) square… a classic characteristic of any member in the mint family… providing the structure for everything else to flourish. So much order and organization in something so earthly, wild and organic.

My brain continued on from there, thinking of how these tiny seed pods will burst open as the season continues, self-seeding happily because when they find the right spot where they can thrive, they do. When they’ve found the environment that offers what they need in order to grow strong and move through the stages of their life before eventually dropping seeds and expanding their impact, they will.

That took generations of adapting… of the plant sensing what worked and what didn’t, discerning, adjusting, and then trying again before it found its place here. Before it found the factors of this environment that allow it to flourish.

And this sort of paying attention… to what works and what doesn’t… what sustains and what doesn’t… has its rightful place this time of the year.

I’m noticing, thinking and writing all of this the morning that the sun moves from Leo into Virgo season… trading the boldness of being seen for the quieter work of paying attention. I start to think of what Virgo season represents, and I realize I've been watching that energy at play right here in the garden.

Because Virgo’s whole mission is for us to understand how to use discernment and analysis in our day-to-day routines as an act of service and care towards ourselves, so that we feel sustained and can better serve others. The saying “you can’t pour from an empty cup” is the lesson Virgo is here to help us understand and actually take part in.

So I think of that anise hyssop… thriving in the right environment and because of that, it has seeds for the birds, pollen for pollinators, roots for all of the life in the soil… and beauty for myself and all my neighbors that walk by.

And because of how it’s found the right environment for it to sustain itself, it will self-seed… continuing the cycle over and over again for more birds, more pollinators, more soil life and more people for seasons to come.

Until next time,

Rebecca

P.S. If this is resonating with you… when was the last time you gave yourself a chance to think about the conditions that are, or are not, helping you feel sustained?

The past couple mornings the temperature for these walks has been in the high-50s and low-60s… perfect, in my opinion. Warm enough to work up a sweat but cool enough so that the morning feels fresh. Warm enough to know that we’re still in the throes of summer but cool enough to know that we’re making our way towards fall.

This is the sort of energy August brings as a whole, I think. It’s that time in the season when we start thinking “wait, summer just started, how is it almost over”. We start to notice the small signs of the season shifting… gardens starting to look a little thirsty, grass feeling a little crunchy, and even some leaves on trees starting to slowly show their colors.

August feels like the month where, if we haven’t embraced summer to our fullest extent, we start to do so. And that’s how I’m looking at the wonders of the month, too. The things that remind me of how special summer is in Michigan (and for you, wherever you live).

So here are some of the wonders I’m appreciating most this month - plus the cycles of the season that make it magical.

The Wonders of August

• Sunflower fields: To the random farmers that decide to plant acres of sunflowers and/or long strips of these beautiful yellow blooms along their land so that we can admire them from the road… thank you. August is when these are stretching so tall towards the sun, following it on their swivel neck as it passes through the sky, you can’t help but feel like these flowers have their own secret personalities.

• Beach sand: Watching my 8-month-old nephew experience the beach sands of Lake Michigan for the first time in his life has reminded me just how magical they are. When was the last time you let sand just fall through your fingers? Or when you sat with your eyes closed, arm hanging down with fingers weaving circles and shapes in the tiniest specks of minerals and rocks? It’s meditative… soothing even.

• Crickets: I was out in the garden the other night and it might have been the first time where I heard the sounds of summer… and specifically, the crickets. Singing their hearts out like a tiny symphony… I sometimes wonder if they’re all chatting it up with one another. They make me want to sit outside just a little longer each evening, when everyone else has gone to sleep, to have time just to listen to the music they make.

• Weeds: I know, I know… this might not seem like a “wonder” of the month, but when you think about weeds they might be some of the most wondrous of plants. (And to be fair, we’re (re: humans) are the ones that say they’re weeds.) I start out the season every year on top of my game when it comes to weeding, but at some point they just get the best of me. They’ve pushed through the cracks in the driveway, through the stones and gravel along the side of the house, through the mulched ground in the garden… and then some. They’ve overcome all of the obstacles and neglect and here they are, vigorously growing and quite frankly thriving everywhere I look. And in some cases, I actually appreciate that, because I know that living roots in the soil are always better than none at all… even if they’re a slight nuisance.

• Dahlias: I didn’t really understand the fuss of these blooms until I started growing them, and then all of a sudden it was down the rabbit hole. I’ve had a few blooms pop up here and there so far (from the plants I was able to overwinter) but these gorgeous showstoppers really hit their stride in August. They liven up every bouquet, they stand tall in the garden with abundant blooms and the open-centered varieties are magnets for pollinators. I’m growing a few new varieties this year and I can’t wait to see them come along.

• Dew: The slightly cooler mornings but the high humidity in our air means fresh coatings of summer dew (which the flowers love, of course). I read once that Celtic traditions see dew as footprints from the fae folk… a bit of morning magic that connects this world with the otherworld… and I love thinking of that as my feet get drenched in that same cool water.

Sylvia Plath, the famous American writer, wrote in her piece The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, that August is “the best of summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” And she’s exactly right.

The cycles of the month:

• August 8 - The Lion’s Gate Portal: There is a lot of opinion about the magic of this day and what it symbolizes, but I like to keep it simple. Given it’s placement in Leo season (on 8/8), I like to think of it as an extra special day to embrace the energy of Leo - to shine a little brighter, to lead a bit more courageously, and to feel a bit more confident in the life we’re living and want to live. A boost of extra light to our lives, if you will.

• August 12 - New Moon in Leo and Total Solar Eclipse*: A more active than usual new moon (given it’s an eclipse). A time to get in touch with our hearts, our creativity, and our expression so that we can feel more confident in being our radiant selves… shining our lights into the world.

• August 22 - Virgo season begins: The season of service - for ourselves and for others - as well as organization, analysis, and routines. It’s the time of year we’re able to take stock of what our day-to-days really look like… and where there’s room to revise so that we’re living in ways that feel aligned with what’s important to us.

• August 28 - The Sturgeon Moon (Full Moon in Pisces) and Partial Lunar Eclipse*: A powerful moon (as an eclipse) that connects us to our intuition, our dreams, our evolution and our transformation.

I hope that you find your own moments of magic and wonder this month. Moments to notice the abundance that nature provides and also to recognize just how lucky we are to call this planet home… with water, blue skies, insects and wildlife, and color flowers to enjoy. In a sea of stars of galaxies… more than we’ll ever truly be able to comprehend… we’re here on this beautiful green and blue oasis. That’s pretty special, and a wonder all of it’s own.

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (or Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Guidance

• Growing Resources

Upon returning home I was welcomed to a garden bursting with flowers. Echinacea, coreopsis, anise hyssop, zinnias, gomphrena, ageratum… it was a kaleidoscope of color. Not to mention the herbs and veggies that have made their debut (it’s my first time really growing vegetables for us and I can’t tell you how excited I was to pick beans and zucchini from my own garden. Not to mention the potatoes that are soon to come!).

But at the same time, as I write this, I’m hunkered down inside because of the smoke from Canadian wildfires creating dangerous air quality in Michigan. Paired with the intense heat over the past couple of weeks, this summer feels quite different.

I’ve realized more and more that when you start paying attention to nature, the seasons, the cycles and all other living beings we share this planet with… you also start paying attention to the impacts of climate change and the dangers it poses for our planet. I can’t look outside my window and not think of the birds, bees, deer and other wildlife that are impacted by smoke, heat, development and so on.

While I do feel that my natural approach is to see possibility and opportunity in things (and even in this, there is part of me that doea), I also think it’s important to acknowledge the realities, challenges and concerns as well.

I’m looking at the wonders of July through the same lens as I have in other months… but with an even greater appreciation of them. Because when the air is so hazardous and clouded with smoke that you can’t comfortably (or safely) be outside, you start to realize even more just how special our planet and all that call it home really is.

So here are some of the wonders I’m appreciating most this month - plus the cycles of the season that make it magical.

The Wonders of July

• Water: Refreshing water to drink, swim in, play around in, listen to, sit next to, grow food and flowers with… all of it. We’re spoiled in Michigan to have such access, this I know, but even a garden hose, a cold shower or a glass to drink carries the same refreshing and hydrating energy.

• Butterflies: Now that the garden is full of blooms, including many natives, these beautiful flighty friends have found their way. They’re beautiful, yes, but it’s hard to look at a butterfly and not think of the transformation they undergo to reach that state. The symbolism – of letting ourselves evolve, change and transform over time – is sometimes the permission that I think we could all use more of.

• Fireflies: Every night before bed my pup and I head out for one last bathroom break. This past week especially, while I wait patiently for her business to be done, I watch the fireflies. The yard is full of their delicate twinkles… and I find myself smiling unknowingly as my eyes widen in wonder and awe of these insects that bring such magic to so many.

• Fresh produce: If you’ve caught the news lately, you may have seen that Michigan is having quite a moment when it comes to a certain parasite outbreak. Every summer I’m grateful for the abundance of local producers and farms we have in Michigan, but this year I’m especially grateful for them.

• Flowers: I know, this is a bit of a “catch all”, but I’m not sure how I could pick just a few to celebrate here because I think at this time of the season it’s the collection of them all together that make each one that much more special. The way a zinnia pops in a bouquet (or in the garden) next to a wispy celosia stem. Or the way the cool color of ageratum immediately adds a moment of “ahhh” to an arrangement. Or the way a lemon basil stalk sends out the most delightful, refreshing aroma (and gorgeous green color) to enliven a sense of smell. The combination of the garden coming together is what creates the real wonder (in my opinion).

• Blue skies and wispy clouds: Something about summer encourages us to lay down and look up at the sky. To watch the clouds move against the bright blue and to notice birds drifting along on the breeze. I often wonder what sort of journey the clouds make… where they came together, how long before they dissipate. Am I seeing the same clouds (or parts of the same clouds) as my family in Australia? Some little things I wonder about.

• Fresh air: Riding along on a bicycle, sitting outside at dawn, driving along with the windows down… the feeling of fresh air something I take for granted. To take a deep breath in that fills your lungs so full where you can almost feel oxygen coursing through your veins… it’s a little moment, something our body does naturally, that literally gives us life. As soon as it’s safe again, the first thing I’m doing is embracing the fresh air with massive deep breaths.

July is the month that really settles us into the summer season. Reminding us that there is so much around to notice while we still have the long days in our favor. To sit under starry night skies while fireflies dance around us (and yes… mosquitos, too – par for the course I suppose). But that’s the lesson… we don’t get to enjoy nature without noticing all of it… the good, the bad, the dangers and the beauty… it’s the full package… and full of wonder.

The cycles of the month:

July 14 - New Moon in Cancer: An emotional time to set intentions around the things that nurture us, nourish us and feel like home to us.

July 22 - Leo season begins: The season of inspiration, creativity, confidence and yes, some fieryness, too.

July 29 - The Buck Moon (Full Moon in Aquarius): A time to celebrate our individuality while recognizing our part in the collective and fighting for a better future for all.

I hope that you find your own moments of magic and wonder this month. Moments to notice the abundance that nature provides and also to recognize just how lucky we are to call this planet home… with water, blue skies, insects and wildlife, and color flowers to enjoy. In a sea of stars of galaxies… more than we’ll ever truly be able to comprehend… we’re here on this beautiful green and blue oasis. That’s pretty special, and a wonder all of it’s own.

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (or Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Guidance

• Growing Resources

As I write this, I’m sitting on my back deck under a clear blue sky without a cloud in sight. There’s a gentle breeze that carries just enough of a chill on it that it keeps the sun from scorching and I look around to see the backyard full of green – the maple trees fully leafed out, the hydrangeas having put on their fresh growth and starting to show signs of where this years flowers will be, the planters full of herbs that are noticeably larger from when they were planted a few weeks ago. And when that breeze blows through, everything moves with that sound of a gentle rustle… and it feels like a perfect June day.

June doesn’t feel like a particularly flashy month (shhh… don’t tell the peonies that) but I think it’s a month that I appreciate more and more as I get older… especially as a flower farmer, gardener and someone trying to live more mindfully with the seasons.

It’s a transitional month that moves us from spring to summer, and with that I feel like we get the best of both worlds. It’s still cool enough in the mornings and evenings but warm enough during the peak of the day. It’s lush enough where landscapes are full and lively, not overheated and exhausted looking. Bees and butterflies are flying around looking for sweet food but the more pesky insects (like Japanese Beetles and mosquitos) haven’t inundated our outdoor spaces yet.

Things feel comfortable… like this month is sort of nurturing us in a way. We’ve planted, we’ve tended and now we get to watch it all grow.

So here are some of the wonders I’m most looking forward to this month - plus the cycles of the season that make it magical.

The Wonders of June

• Peonies: A tried-and-true, fragrant, fluffy, massive flower that is beloved by so many, can carry on from generation to generation, and that might just be the most idyllic cut flower for this month (maybe even in general). Every year I’m in awe of how the smallest bud can open up into layers and layers of soft petals that oftentimes end up being larger than my hand.

• The garden growing: There’s a stance in the flower farming/gardening space that June is for watering and weeding. It’s the month where we see the most visible growth for all of our heat-loving flowers and plants. The stems get long, the buds start to swell, the foliage flakes out creating shady spots for little creatures. There might not be as much color yet, but we still get to witness the magic of growth that will soon lead to the bright blooms.

• The arrival of summer: Aside from the garden, my favorite part of summer is easily the long days. They feel as if there is a world of possibility and opportunity in each day, with hours and hours to embrace the things we “must do” and also things we want to do. The Summer Solstice gives us the longest day of the year, and it always feels like a day to “make the most of”.

• Shade: At this point trees are fully expressed, their leaves unfolded creating the most welcoming canopies. And as the sun gets higher in the sky and the temperatures rise, I’m more and more grateful for cool places to relax amongst the trees.

• Herbal magic: This morning I harvested my first batch of sage to hang, dry and bundle for smoke cleansing. Yesterday I snipped the tops off my mint, basil and tulsi plants. It’s officially the season of harvesting herbs that I can use in the kitchen and in my rituals. I have my tried and true favorites, but this year I have a few new things I’m excited to work with, too!

• Trips to the beach: I don’t expect the water to be warm enough to swim (at least for me), but heading out to the shores of Lake Michigan so that my pup can take a cool dip is high on the list. Listening to the waves, running my hands through the sand and watching the early summer sunsets do something for the soul.

Maybe June isn’t just about growth though? Maybe it’s also about transition. About the process we get to witness and be a part of. The moments that sometimes slide under the radar in favor of flashier takes, but that end up being important – and playing an important part – in the grand schemes of it all.

The cycles of the month:

June 14 - New Moon in Gemini: A time to set intentions around our curiosities, our connections and the ways we think and communicate.

June 21 - The Summer Solstice: Summer officially begins as we celebrate the longest day of the year, harvest season and the peak of fire energy in the year.

June 21 - Cancer season begins: The season of caring, nurturing, nourishing and tending to our homes and inner emotional worlds.

June 29 - The Strawberry Moon (Full Moon in Capricorn): The culmination from the discipline we’ve had towards are goals that now allows us to enjoy the sweet fruits of our work.

I hope that you find your own moments of magic and wonder this month. That June gives you a chance to feel nourished and nurtured, to feel present in the moments of transition, and to feel a sense of possibility with what’s to come.

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (or Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Guidance

• Growing Resources

I think it’s because it feels like the first month of the year that enlivens our senses after the season of winter. Yes, earlier in spring we start to notice things changing as the world comes alive again, but May feels prosperous, abundant and full of possibility.

It’s the month of the year that is most green here in Michigan, after soaking up the snow from winter and the rains of early spring. And it’s the season of blossoms - apples, cherries, pears and more.

When I think of blossoms, they’re beautiful in their own right, but they also are a crucial part of the cycle that make way for the fruit (and more seeds). If the blossoms struggle or get hit with a frost it impacts the fruit production and harvest for the season. When freeze warnings hit the forecast, the lengths that fruit farmers go to is wild - even bringing in helicopters to help keep the frost from settling onto the blossoms.
These beautiful, delicate little flowers that end up needing some of the most extreme plant protection because of the abundance, sustenance and possibility they hold for the future. If we zoom out to think about that, it’s pretty incredible, right?

So here are some of the wonders I’m most looking forward to this month - plus the cycles of the season that make it magical.

The Wonders of May

1. Soft grass (and clover) under my feet. Spring rains have given new life to the small areas of lawn I haven’t turned into a garden (yet) and there’s nothing like the feeling of lush earth on a bare foot.

2. Flower crowns of dandelions. There are certain parts of the yard where I let the dandelions live… for the pollinators, for the soil compaction and because their bright yellow flower heads remind me of being a kid. Pick a dandelion and I suspect the smell will transport you back to carefree days. These were probably the first flower crowns most of us made… and so I like to continue the tradition if only for me and if only to wear for a few minutes.

3. Lilacs blooming. One of my favorite flowers, because of the time of year and their place in so many of my birthday celebrations and because of the varying shades of purple they come in. But most of all, perhaps, because of the incredible scent they offer. I only wish they lasted longer in a vase… but I suppose that’s part of what makes the time when they’re in bloom so special.

4. Planting - all of the things. Here in Michigan the last frost date officially passes and that means the garden and farm officially get planted out. There may have been a few things here and there prior, those that can take the cooler temperatures, but all of the heat loving, summer blooms, herbs and vegetables are now making their way into their growing space.

5. Blossoms. I grew up in what’s been considered the “Cherry Capital of the World” and every year people would plan spring trips in order to see the peak of the cherry blossoms. Orchards lined rolling hills set against cerulean blue waters of Lake Michigan and the small bays offered views that seemed to come right from a Van Gogh painting. As I mentioned above, blossoms are not only beautiful now… but they remind us of what’s to come… and that feels like something special to hold onto this season.

If I had to sum up the wonders of May, I’d lean on Taurus season (which occupies the first ⅔ of the month) and call it the “sensual month”, for it’s a month that tickles our physical senses and demands a certain presence from us all. It wants us to slow down and notice all the beauty around us, to get our hands in the dirt and to be in our lives.

The cycles of the month:

May 1 - Beltane: The ancient Celtic & Gaelic festival celebrating the fertility of land and life, protection for an abundance season. We move into the second six weeks of spring as we approach the welcome of summer.

May 1 - The Flower Moon (Full Moon in Scorpio): A time to honor and celebrate the parts of us that are often in the depths and unseen, but that play an important part in our blooming and becoming.

May 16 - New Moon in Taurus: A time to set intentions around the things we’re ready to tend with slow, steady and sensual determination.

May 20 - Gemini Season begins: The social season of curiosity, conversation, learning and more.

May 31 - Full Moon in Sagittarius (The Blue Moon): A time to look towards the horizon, aim our arrows in the direction of the things that expand our lives and perspectives, and let them soar.

May has a way of asking us to be present… and so wherever you are, I hope you find something in it worth noticing.

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (or Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Guidance

• Growing Resources

But as I was laying in bed this morning (I always seem to wake up extra early on days when I fly) I listened to the soft song of the birds and I thought to myself - I’m going to miss this for the next week.

And then, as my husband and I took my pup for a little morning stroll and I saw crocuses starting to pop everywhere and daffodils ready to open I thought to myself - I’m going to miss this, too.

At home, when I went through the protocols for tending to my farm seedings (my husband is in charge while I’m gone - wish him luck!) and I saw some growing absolutely wild while others were just starting to germinate and poke up through the soil I thought to myself - I’m also going to miss this.

I realized how this time of year especially feels like the time of year where, if you blink, you’ll miss something incredible from mother nature.

And then I realized how grateful I feel to be living this life. To be able to take slow mornings, to listen to the birds and watch them feed on the seed heads and feeders in the garden. To be able to pay close attention to the varying buds and blooms around me… and to notice them change on what feels like the daily.

I know not everyone has that same luxury… but I’d like to think that we can still find moments to notice, no matter what our schedules look like.

So as I write this, I realize that even thinking of the wonders of April feel a bit different than when I thought of those in March, because when I venture home I’ll be coming back to a new landscape. We’re supposed to get lots of rain while I’m away. And as you know… “April showers bring May flowers”... so I’m here for that.

Some Simple Wonders of April

1. Lilac buds starting to burst open followed by vibrant green leaves.

2. The sound of spring rains hitting the bird bath and garden, and then seeing the robins hop along the soil looking to feast on the earthworms that have crawled up through the soil.

3. Daffodils and Narcissus of all shapes will start blooming in my yard (and in the landscapes of so many others). There’s even a patch of bright yellow daffodils that bloom in the woodlands behind the farm. Someday I’d like to fill the wood with all sort of spring bulbs.

4. While I’m not going any for the farm this year, tulips in the landscape should be making their debut. Always a treat given I never remember what or where I planted them.

5. Robins eggs. If you’ve ever seen one you know the vibrant turquoise blue hue that make them so special. I always wonder what it is that gives them such a stunning shade of color. I could Google it, but sometimes I think are better left to simple wonder at.

6. Springtime blossoms. The magenta of an Eastern Redbud, the soft pink of a Weeping Cherry Tree, the delicate white of a Crabapple. These might show up closer to the end of the month, but they’ll be here soon.

7. Getting my hands into the garden. So far I’ve been starting seeds and waking up dahlias tubers, but I’m ready to get my hands in the actual soil. To clean things up from what was left from fall and to even get some of the cooler season annuals planted into the ground.

These are just a few things that come to mind. Things that I feel like are starting to walk us toward the height of spring versus the messy beginning.

What about you? What are some of the wonders of April you’re looking forward to most?

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Workbooks

Over the course of three minutes, I went from feeling calm and slowly rolling into the week to feeling like my veins were on fire and my heart was racing. I could feel the emotion rising up in me after reading through an email. The email, a response to me finally putting worth to my work, came back in the form of an interrogation to which I - a person with fourteen years of experience - found I wasn’t willing to stay quiet about.

You see, I actually have two lines of work… one of which I don’t talk much about here. I’ve been freelancing in performance and digital marketing for the past four years after a decade in the industry working for others. Fourteen years in the industry working for an array of clients, within various industries, across the country. And while my two businesses (seasonal guidance and performance marketing) might seem slightly unrelated, they crossed paths in a big way energetically this week.

It was the first time I’ve made the decision to let go of a client because we weren’t going to be the right fit moving forward.

I’ve always been a people-pleaser and a “yes” person. Growing up in a family of seven meant it was easier to just “go with the flow” than try to stand your ground (especially with some very determined siblings). Conflict felt scary. But at some point that started to mix into my feelings of worth towards myself, my services, and so on, and that meant undercharging my work and often undervaluing myself.

I had a wonderful relationship with this client for the past year, but the original company was acquired which meant new ownership. My contact, with whom I signed the contract with last year, was also abruptly let go and the transition left a bad taste in my mouth.

I took the opportunity to send over a new contract (given the new contact and new company) which included rate increases and more clearly established boundaries around my services. There was communication back and forth until this week when I decided this wasn’t going to work for me anymore. And so I communicated that to them.

I said no… I left money on the table… I ended a relationship. All things that on their own are really hard for me.

I hit “send” and my body felt flushed - and not in a good sort of way. It felt like I was going to sit on the edge of my seat, my heart-racing, my palms maybe a bit sweaty. It felt like being nervous and excited and unsure and all over the place. But then, it changed.

It went to feeling steady and secure. It went to feeling proud of myself. I noticed my heart beat wasn’t out of fear or concern or dread but out of confidence. It felt like a moment where I held my head high - literally and figuratively - because I stood up for myself and in many ways, the longer term dream and goals I have around my work.

I said yes (to myself)... I put my trust in knowing there is more out there… and I started down a new path. All things that on their own spark something inside of me.

It’s like the seed at the very moment it decides to break open from the hard coating to stretch and grow… or the sunflower head that rises up to meet the sun as it follows it across the sky each day. This small, sometimes easily missed moment that initiates so much. That’s what this felt like.

When I said no to this client, there was a small piece inside of me that thought “now you’re doing it”. Not “doing it” as in - you’re a business owner or you mean business - but more of a you’re embracing your worth. You’re carving out the path that feels right. You’re letting the spark inside of you mean something instead of just letting it sit there smoldering.

This came about because of business, but it made me think of the other areas in my life where I tend to not stand up for myself. Where it’s easier to still “go with the flow” instead of speaking what’s true for me. The places where conflict still feels like a scary thing when in reality, it’s something that often pushes progress.

I think when we say “people pleaser” what we’re really saying is “hates conflict”. And I wonder if it’s less that we don’t care, and more that we’ve never quite trusted that we have the fire to navigate it when it arrives. That the spark is there… but we’ve talked ourselves out of believing it belongs to us.

But what does that do? What happens when we don’t stand up for ourselves? When we avoid conflict because it’s uncomfortable?

Because sometimes conflict helps us find clarity for what’s next. It helps us clear the path that we want to go down - in our relationships, our jobs, and our lives in general.

Sometimes that clarity looks like having a better understanding of the work we want to do and the clients we want to work with. Sometimes it looks like feeling more confident in your worth. Sometimes it looks as simple as knowing that there is even a spark inside of you that wants to burn brighter. (This week, for me, it was that last one.)

And sometimes, it’s feeling that the spark is held safely, warmly, ready to tap into when you need it but not lighting the rest of you on fire. It’s feeling that gut instinct that gives you the courage to stand up for yourself… a little smoldering reserve in the depths of your core that you now know is yours to tap into.

What about you? Where in your life is there a spark that’s been sitting, quietly smoldering… and what might it look like to finally let it catch?

Until next time,

Rebecca

The Energy We’re In - Aries Season

It’s no coincidence this found its way to you now. Aries is the first sign of the zodiac… the initiator, the one who moves before the path is fully clear, and the one who trusts the impulse before the outcome is guaranteed. After the quiet compassionate dissolution of Pisces season, Aries arrives like a spark catching. Like a seed deciding… finally…to break open.

This is the energy of the self coming back online and of remembering that you have wants, instincts, and a fire that belongs to you.

What makes this Aries season particularly layered is that both Saturn and Neptune have recently moved into the sign, and that’s not something that happens often or lightly. Saturn, the planet of long-term vision, discipline, and what we’re genuinely building toward, is asking us to get serious about what we actually want… not just what we’ve been conditioned to settle for. Neptune, the planet of dreams, ideals, and imagination, is asking us what we’d dare to want if we actually let ourselves do so. Together in Aries, the invitation is to let the dream become a direction… to let the spark mean something.

This moon is in Pisces which is the last sign of the zodiac before we start the astrological new year, Aries season… and Spring. So this new moon feels like it is carrying something extra with it, because it’s the last new moon of this current season and year. So what exactly does that mean?

Here’s how I’m thinking about it….

New moons are the darkest of the moon phases before they start gaining light from the reflection of the sun again. The reason they’re dark is because the moon and sun are sitting right next to on another… this time, in Pisces. Because of this, they’re the time and energy that supports us in planting seeds of intention towards the lives we wish to create. We want our intentions to grow… the same way the light of the moon will.

We manifest, we dream, we write things down and bury them safely into the ground or burn them and watch the smoke carry off the energy into the wind.

And this new moon feels all of that even more.

Pisces is the sign of the dreamer and the natural phase of the cycle completing and transforming into the next beginning. It’s emotionally in tune and aware, compassionate and ready to take all it has understood and known and transform it into the thing that matters most to carry forward.

So for a new moon to fall here, especially right before the new year and new season of spring begins, it’s giving us a double dose of that energy. Reminding us to think about all we’ve navigated through this past season and year, the lessons we’ve learned and the experiences we’ve had… and to dissolve it down into the intentions we want to carry forward… the seeds we want to plant.

And since the moon will be gaining light, the days will be getting longer, and the sun will be raising higher in the sky… the staying power for things to grow, take hold, take shape and come into life is powerful.

This is the moon that dreams are made of.

But here’s another fun fact of this moon… Mercury is still retrograde. So we’re still in this time of reviewing, realigning, and revising things. It’s okay to take time to reflect on everything before you set any sort of intention. To take time to reassess where your priorities are and where your values lead you, in order to set the intentions that feel the most potent and true for this next season of life.

And, Uranus is also in the mix, as it is sextiling the sun (means that it’s forming a nice little connection with it). So pay attention to the random thoughts or insights that come up, too… those random downloads or flashes of brilliance. They could have some merit.

Here’s how I’m working with it…

Given that Pisces is a water sign, and that the new moon is later on in the day, I’m treating myself to a warm bath with my journal, some candles, and a nice cold refreshing minty mocktail. I might get fancy and throw some flower petals in… or surround myself with some of my Piscean crystals… maybe I’ll pull some cards while I listen to some soft, soothing, instrumental music that makes me feel like I’m floating on top of Lake Michigan’s waves. It will probably be a bit extra… but tonight I’m okay with that.

Because that’s not how I normally do things.

I’m also doing this…

• Giving all of my houseplants water and a boost of fertilizer… having a little chat with each one while I do.

• Getting dishes, bedding and any dirty clothes washed up.

• Trying to drink lots of water today (something I’m terrible at).

Working with the moon can be done in the most mundane ways, too. In fact, those can be some of the most beautiful ways to do so because they’re real… a part of our everyday lives. These things we do all the time become a bit more magical when we have a different mindset or intention behind them.

So do what works for you. There is no “one way” to work with the moon… only your way.

Enjoy the new moon, friends.

Until next time,

Rebecca

We feel it, deep down, often before we might see it shifting around us. We know it, deep down, often before anyone… or anything… tells us (sorry, Punxsutawney Phil).

We’ve come to know that the season doesn’t wait for any date on the calendar. That the bulbs don’t consult a date before they start pushing and the birds don’t wait for the equinox to begin singing and rearranging their nests for the season. Even this morning, as I write this, before spring officially arrives… daffodil shoots are 4-5” tall already, crocuses have bloomed, and birds have been singing louder each morning… first the robins, then the sparrows, and then the cardinals.

Spring is a direction… a slow, insistent leaning toward more light and more energy. And if we’re paying attention, we start leaning into that, too.

This guide is my attempt to orient you to what spring actually holds… as a living season with its own arc, its own invitations, and its own particular way of asking something of us. I want to walk you through it the way I’d walk you through my garden this time of year: observing, pointing things out, naming what I see, and leaving room for you to notice what I’ve missed.

Before we get into the months, it helps to understand that spring isn’t one unified energy. It moves… through a beginning, a middle, and an end… almost like a book with three chapters, each with its own feeling and pace, and each one an important piece of the plot.

The first chapter is emergence… it’s tender, uncertain, full of possibility and also vulnerable because things are just starting to show themselves. This is the energy of early spring, and it asks for gentleness more than momentum.

The second chapter is deepening… slower, more sensory, and a bit more stubborn. This is when things are actually growing, visibly, undeniably. The energy here is less about starting and more about tending, and it requires patience and presence.

The third chapter is expansion… it’s curious, connected, and almost giddy. Late spring has a social quality to it. Things are blooming, school is getting out, and the world is louder. There’s an abundance that can feel exciting and also, if you’re not rooted, a little overwhelming.

For those of us who work with astrology, you’ll recognize these as the energies of Aries, Taurus, and Gemini - the three zodiac seasons that move through spring. One thing I wanted to note though: the astrological seasons don’t align perfectly with calendar months. They begin around the 19th–21st of each month, which means Aries season starts at the spring equinox and runs into mid-April, Taurus picks up from there through mid-May, and Gemini carries us into mid-June. In practice, most of us organize our lives by the month, so throughout this guide I’ve woven the astrological energies into their corresponding months loosely as a way to honor both the precision of the sky and the rhythm most of us already live by. If you want to follow the astrological timing more exactly, the workbook goes into that in much more depth.

For now: three chapters. Emergence, deepening, and expansion. Spring holds all of them.

March - The Tender Beginning

Emergence. Aries season (and the astrological new year) begins at the equinox, this year on March 20.

March is sort of the most misunderstood month of spring (I think). Because we associate spring with warmth and brightness and new beginnings, we often arrive in March expecting to feel ready, energized, and clear-headed. And then we don’t… and maybe that means something is off with us.

But that’s not the case… nothing is wrong with you… because March is still half winter. The Spring Equinox marks the moment of balance between dark and light, not the victory of light. It’s a threshold we’re moving through, not a destination we’ve reached. And for those of us who work with the astrological calendar, it’s also the new year! The wheel has completed another full turn and is “beginning” again with another layer, carrying everything the last cycle taught us.

On the farm and in the garden, March looks like this: seeds are being started indoors while the winter sown ones are maybe just starting to emerge. The ground outside is still cold, still wet, still in that between-state that doesn’t photograph well (it’s gross and muddy). There’s activity happening… real, important activity… but none of it is visible yet to anyone who isn’t paying close attention.

This is the most honest image I have for what Aries season asks of us. It’s not the triumphant “new year, new you” energy that January tries to sell us, even though it is the start of the astrological new year. It’s something quieter and more real than that: the first little spark of energy… and the first tender showing of something that has been growing underground for months. It’s brave in the way that early bulb shoots are brave… breaking through the ground knowing that there’s a good chance for storms they’ll have to weather, but they show up anyway.

The inner invitation of March is less about deciding what to do and more about noticing what’s already trying to surface… what feels restless after winter and what is ready (and almost insisting) on being seen now. Spring helps reveal what was already there instead of starting from nothing.

If you want to actually sit with that - with prompts, reflection space, and practices designed specifically for this time of year - the Spring Workbook is the place to go when you want to work with the season, not just move through it.

April - The Work of Tending

Deepening. Taurus season begins this year on April 19.

By April, for the most part there’s no more ambiguity and things are growing. On the farm, April means we’re busy in a way that feels less like inspiration and more like commitment. The seedlings need water and care and the beds need preparation. It’s the time of year when spring clean-up comes in full force with work that is tangible and physical.

This is Taurus energy at its core: steady, embodied, unhurried but absolutely persistent. Where Aries initiates, Taurus sustains. And sustaining… showing up for the unglamorous middle part… is where most things either take root or don’t. This is the part that in many ways determines how the season could play out.

April is also when the natural world starts to become undeniable. The trees leaf out. Flowers that were just hints in March are fully present now. There’s a sensory richness to this time of year that Taurus, ruled by Venus, seems almost purpose-built for… the smell of warm supple soil, the sound of rain hitting windows, the bright green of new leaves that somehow doesn’t exist at any other time of year.

Culturally, April holds a couple of significant seasonal moments. Many traditions celebrate the earth coming back to life around May Day (May 1st) and Beltane - the midpoint between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice that honors fertility, abundance, and the full turning-on of the natural world. These celebrations don’t require a particular belief system to resonate. They’re simply humans, across centuries, noticing that something remarkable is happening in the world around them and deciding it deserves acknowledgment.

The inner invitation of April is to notice what needs tending versus what needs starting… and to trust the difference. April has a way of clarifying that, whether we ask it to or not.

May - The Fullness Arrives

Expansion. Gemini season begins this year on May 20.

May is when spring stops being subtle. Everything that is meant to bloom this time of year is blooming and it’s hard to go for a walk without the scent of sweet blossoms filling your nose. The world gets louder in a way… with more color, more scent, more activity, and more light. It’s that energy of “schooooool’s…out… for… summer”, and the doors are flung open and you’re running out of the halls in a t-shirt and dropping your backpack off somewhere on the ground as soon as you can in order to climb onto the swings or hop onto a bike (ahhh, the simpler days of elementary school).

Anywho… Gemini season, which begins near the end of May, brings a special flavor to this fullness: curiosity, connection, and perspective Where Taurus wanted to go deep, Gemini wants to go wide. There’s an urge to talk, to share, to be in conversation with the world… to be social in all of the way. The days are long and the light is generous, and it’s easy to find yourself saying yes to everything.

This can be wonderful (as a Gemini sun, I do love this energy)... but truthfully, it can also be disorienting if you haven’t stayed rooted through the earlier movements of spring. Expansion without being grounded can feel pretty scattering… like you’re moving fast in many directions without really moving anywhere.

The inner invitation of late spring is simply this: stay connected to what you’re actually tending underneath all the activity. Keep one hand in the soil, metaphorically speaking, as the world asks for your attention in a hundred different ways and your other hand reaches for the hors d’oeuvres at your latest social gathering.

What Spring Wants Us to Do

Across all three chapters of spring there’s a through-line I keep returning to…

Spring does not need you (nor does it ask you) to reinvent yourself.

Instead, it encourages you to notice what’s already moving.

This is the picture that self-improvement culture (or our culture in general) doesn’t quite paint clearly, because Spring doesn’t arrive with an entirely blank slate. It arrives with everything that was quietly composting all winter (and from all the seasons of the year before)… everything you processed, everything you let go of, everything you were too tired to tend to but your deeper self was working on anyway. The lessons, the experiences, the learning... and the living. Spring is the reveal, the forward motion, not simply just a beginning, because cycles build upon one another… they aren’t linear.

Think of a garden when the snow melts. There is a new possibility to plant whatever you want… but you’re still working with the conditions of your soil. your climate, your space, etc. And, you’re probably working around things that are already there… the bulbs you planted in the autumn, the perennials from last year, maybe even a shrub or two. You build your garden with new things on top of what you decide to keep and the work you did from previous seasons.

Which means the most useful thing you can do as the season opens is get quiet enough to hear what’s already trying to surface. Not impose an entirely new plan on the season, but let the season show you what it’s made of… and, in doing so, show you something true about yourself, too.

Nature has always been this kind of mirror for me… an actual reflection of what’s happening above and around me that shows me where I already am. Astrology works the same way in my practice… not as some set prescription but as a language for what’s already happening and who I already am. Spring gives us both: the physical world waking up around us, and the astrological weather contextualizing the inner weather we’re already feeling.

And remember, you don’t have to do it perfectly (because there is no perfect way)... you just have to show up for it and pay attention to it.

Continuing the Story…

This guide is a view from above… the shape of the season and the feeling of each chapter. If something here resonated and you want to actually work with the season rather than just observe it, I made something for exactly that.

The Spring Seasonal Workbook is the deeper resource to everything here. It includes reflective prompts, practices, and space to move through each part of the season at your own pace. It’s for the people who want to do more than read about this stuff… it’s for those who want to use the season as an actual framework for understanding where they are right now. You can find it on my website here.

And if you want ongoing company through the season, like essays, deep dives, and a more intentional practice of moving through it, Wild Rhythm, my paid Substack tier, goes deeper into each part of the season as it unfolds. It’s a slower, more deliberate space to actually inhabit this work rather than just read about it.

Both are invitations, not obligations. Spring will do its work whether or not you show up with a workbook. But in my experience, the seasons give back in proportion to the attention we bring… and a little intention goes a long way.

So here’s to what’s already growing… and of what’s to come!

Until next time,

Rebecca

But I’m ready for spring, I’ll be honest. My hands back in the soil, dirt under my nail, a fresh energy and sense of movement. But before I’m too quick to jump into what’s next, I’m taking some time to think back about this winter as a whole. The emotions I navigated, the reflections I spent time with, the comforts I found…

It was also a harsh winter, a heavy one. Which sometimes I think is where the lessons really come from. Not from the easy or comfortable or cozy moments, but from the challenging ones… the ones that expose us to the elements.

So here are some things I’m reflecting and journaling on in this next week before we officially move into spring and the astrological new year on March 20th. And, it feels extra intentional to take this time right now given Mercury is still retrograde in Pisces (it will station direct the same day we welcome spring, March 20). So taking the time to think and reflect on, revisit, and reassess how we feel about things is a really beneficial exercise right now.

Questions I’m asking myself… that you can, too:

1. What did winter teach me about what I’m able to navigate through in my life? About how I can be resilient and strong?

2. How did my emotional landscape feel different these past few months?

3. Based on what I’ve felt, how do I want to move forward? Differently? The same?

4. In what ways did I rediscover and befriend parts of myself?

5. How did I feel most nurtured and nourished during winter? And how do I carry that forward with me?

6. Did stillness show up for me in some way this winter? If so, how… and what did it help me understand about slowing down?

Perhaps I’ll have some things to share in the next week from my own reflections… or, if you want to share anything that comes up for you, the comments section is always open.

Until next time,

Rebecca

In the past three weeks while on walks or runs I’ve come across two wandering black English Labradors, an injured goose, and an injured squirrel. And the other night I awoke to footage on our security camera of a beautiful-but-lost German Shepard strolling into our backyard and up onto the porch.

It’s almost like the universe puts animals in my path that need help. Or, that I think need help (because most times animals are far more likely to tend to their care accordingly than having humans get involved… but not always).

There are so many people in my life that love animals, but not all of them would stop what they’re doing to save or help one. So it makes me wonder, why do some people?

Zeus is a recent friend of mine. A handsome nine-month-old black English Labrador Retriever, whose coat is still soft and fluffy and whose proud stature and boxy head are something regal. He and I became acquainted while I was on a run and came across him walking down the sidewalk, by himself, without a care in the world. Roaming from lawn to lawn, I stopped to watch him to see if I could gauge whether he was heading towards a home or not.

As I stood there, another couple walked by and looked at him, but kept moving on their way.

To me, something didn’t seem right. And so I walked up to a home with multiple cars in the driveway to see if they recognized Zeus - while he explored their yeard. There was a language barrier between the homeowners and I, but we were able to connect in order to get a leash for him (which ended up being this man’s belt) so that I could walk Zeus from house to house looking for his family.

Zeus was a happy, playful dude. He picked up a stick to carry, trying to get my attention while he did, wagging his tail and stopping to sniff at the earth given the unseasonably warm weather had exposed all the spring smells early. Him and I were fast friends.

After a few houses, we knocked on the door and a woman answered with a “what are you doing buddy!?” and I knew that Zeus was home.

After some pleasantries were exchanged - her gratitude and my love for black labs - I was back on my way to finish my run. But as I went on, I thought about the couple who had also seen Zeus wandering around but who kept going, not stopping to see if there was something they could do.

And I get it, not everyone is comfortable with dogs. Not everyone has the time to stop. Or maybe they knew who Zeus was and that he wasn’t far from home. That’s not my place to say. But what I do know is that they didn’t stop… and up until the past couple of days I wasn’t sure why.

Compassion.

One of the things I enjoy most about having a writing practice is that I’m learning. In my mind I’ve always thought I knew what compassion meant, caring about others, having empathy for others, etc. It was a word that could be switched out with any number of other ones. But what I recently learned is that compassion includes action. It’s not just having empathy for something, or caring for something, it’s about taking action because of it.

I thought about the couple who walked past and then I thought about myself. One went on their way, perhaps concerned for the dog but not more than whatever their agenda at the time was. Then there was me, whose concern for the dog turned into a twenty-minute adventure to make sure he was home.

When I saw the injured squirrel, I went home to get a box, a warm water bottle and towel in order to take it to the local wildlife rescue (although I didn’t make it in time and the little thing passed on). When I saw Zeus (and another, different black lab wandering), I stopped to get them home. When the lost German Shepard showed up in my backyard, I went onto local “lost pet” pages to see if there was anyone searching for a pup that fit the description.

I don’t know why I feel called to do so… but there’s something in me that wants to help… wants to act.

When I sit with this reframed understanding of compassion, something starts to make more sense… not just about myself, but about the world.

I don’t doubt that people care. I think most of us do, genuinely, about others, about animals, about the state of things. But we are also living in a time when the list of things to care about is relentless and endless. The news cycle, the state of the planet, the struggling friend, the animal in the road. Compassion gets called on so frequently and from so many directions that at some point, for many of us, it starts to feel like too much to hold. And when something feels like too much to hold, the quiet and very human response is to keep walking.

I don’t think the couple who passed Zeus was indifferent (I mean… gosh, I hope they weren’t). I think they were probably just... already full.

But here’s what I’ve been sitting with: what happens to us when we feel compassion and don’t follow it? When we notice something, feel the pull, and keep moving anyway? I wonder if that gap... between feeling and acting… is part of what leaves us vaguely hollow. Not because we’re failing some moral test, but because compassion that moves through us and into action is also, it turns out, nourishing for the one who acts. Zeus didn’t just get home that night… I came home with a bit more hope in my heart, and a bit more lightness in the load I’d been carrying.

And so I’ll admit there are days when I look at the world and wonder if compassion-into-action is as rare as it feels. When the news makes it hard to believe that people are out there quietly doing the thing, moving toward what needs tending, without being asked or applauded for it.

But then something stops me in my tracks.

Last year I noticed a large Osprey nest sitting high up on top of an electric line. Not the safest place to build a nest, but it withstood the test of weather and time here in Michigan. One my way home from the store this morning, I was driving along the road looking up to find it, when I noticed the nest was gone. In that moment I thought to myself “I can’t believe it’s gone. I hope the birds are okay. I hope someone didn’t just knock it down… people can be so disappointing”.

But then my eyes shot to the other side of the road, where a fresh pole had been placed, towering over any of the others, and without any of the electrical components on top. Instead, what was resting on top was the large osprey nest, securely sitting on a large platform that had been built for it.

Someone found it in their heart to not only hope that the nest was okay, but to make sure it was by building a new place for it. That, is compassion.

And perhaps it’s more alive and well than I had first thought. It’s there in the person who builds the platform. In the stranger who lends a belt for a leash. In the small, quiet moments where someone feels the pull… and follows it. So maybe the question isn’t whether compassion exists in the world… but whether we’re willing to let it move through us when it arrives.

What about you? Has there been a place in your life where you’ve felt the pull of compassion lately… and did you follow it?

Until next time,

Rebecca

The Energy We’re In - Pisces Season

We’re in Pisces season, the twelfth and final zodiac sign… and the sign has always been associated with compassion.

Pisces is a water sign, so it’s tied to our emotions just like Cancer and Scorpio, but it’s the final one. It’s asking us to take everything we’ve learned and felt through the journey we’ve been on and to go forward with more wisdom, care and compassion. It’s as if we’ve reached the point of evolution (for this journey) and we’re being asked to now step forward with what we know to be true and what can shape the next journey. Aries season comes next, the initiator of the zodiac, which means the energy of action is already on its way.

But I sit looking out at these few places of white and I think about the way the snow fades away. Some snow melts slowly into the ground, where it’s absorbed, embodied, and used to nourish and to start new life. Some snow, especially like that on a rooftop during those warm days, quickly runs off through the gutters, and is taken away down the sewer. And then there’s the snow that slowly evaporates up into the air, moisture to be carried off on the wind.

Winter is letting go… and it’s the pause I need to think about what I’m letting go of, too.

For a long time I struggled with that… with letting go. I think we wrap it together with “change” and it feels like so many of my first encounters with real change in life were met with sadness, grief, and finality. My parents divorced and we subsequently sold our childhood home… the one that carries my most playful, wild child memories. I lost treasured loved ones and friends (my first introduction to death was age 4). It felt like I’d navigated my fair share of significant change and loss by the time I was twenty.

To me, change meant things were final and that letting go meant things were gone. And in truth, so much of that change felt like it happened to me, and wasn’t anything I had a say in.

But at some point - perhaps after my dark night of the soul - I started to realize that change was something I could initiate for possibility and opportunity. And perhaps more importantly, that change was something I was capable of. That it can be filled with sadness but also with excitement. With fear and with hope. With uncertainty and with confidence.

I started to understand how letting go of things in our lives can feel softer, more intentional, like a gentle wave as you watch someone drive away. That change doesn’t always mean only a sad ending, but a new beginning too.

Still, sometimes letting go isn’t always so obvious. Sometimes it’s quieter than that - an interior shift and a slow loosening of something you didn’t even realize you’d been holding. The kind that doesn’t come with a decision point or a dramatic exit. Just a gradual releasing, like the frost lifting off the ground on a warmer morning.

In October I decided to give alcohol a break. It was something that had been on my mind for a while, and after a busier-than-usual social calendar, I think my system thought: let’s do this now. I didn’t intend to fully quit drinking, but here we are four months later without a drink.

Alcohol was a steady-enough presence in my life. A drink or two when out to dinner with friends, or a cool cocktail on the back porch under the summer sun. But alcohol has also cost my family quite a bit, and so it’s a relationship I’ve been mindful of in my adult years.

These past months have been the longest I’ve not had a drink since I was seventeen. At the beginning I expected to see some changes - in my mood, sleep, energy - the “standard” things. And I did; even as someone who didn’t drink all the time, there was a noticeable shift. But what I didn’t expect was the emotional depth of change.

In some ways, having alcohol as a steady-enough part of my life for the past 25 years meant it always enough of a presence. Even if I wasn’t using it to intentionally numb out all the time, when you drink often enough it’s bound to have some sort of that effect.

But looking back, if I’m being honest, I know there were times I used it to numb out, especially when I was in my late teens and early twenties.

I don’t think I realized that letting go of alcohol would also allow me to let go of emotions that have perhaps been stuck. It’s as if there was always just enough of a presence of alcohol to keep some things suppressed. And now, it feels like they’re moving through me the way snowmelt finds its way through frozen ground - not all at once, not cleanly, but slowly.

I can’t say where the emotions are coming from, or what they’re bringing up… who knows what gets suppressed below the surface. But I know what it feels like.

My eyes well up with tears at the smallest nod to the experience of being human. An injured adolescent squirrel at the base of a tree that I wasn’t able to save in time, garbage flying around alongside the highway, a conversation with a friend who is caring for a terminally-ill parent… not to mention the exhausting list of what have now become “everyday” situations politically. I’m not talking just tears in my eyes, I’m talking full on crying.

But there are tears of happiness, too. From watching someone reach a dream they’ve worked years for, to looking at my elderly pup peacefully snoozing on the couch in the sunshine. To notice the little shoots of daffodils starting to emerge through the soil and the birds in trees singing so loudly they force you to stop and listen. I mean it… the birds made me cry. But the one that really stopped me was pulling up photos from the farm the past couple of seasons… and feeling, without rushing past it, actual pride.

There’s joy… and bouts of genuine laughter that makes you pause in your mind long enough to say “absorb how this feels right now - be in this moment”. The kind of laughter that feels like hope and sunshine filling up your heart, chest, belly, lungs and every part of your body. The kind of laughter that makes you wonder if the blood is going to burst from your veins because there’s too much emotion to contain.

And… there’s the rage.

I’ve found myself so hot and livid that I’ve caught myself yelling profanities at the television (not proud of it, but it’s real). I’ve found myself screaming into a pillow and on a run going way too fast for any amount of sustained distance. I’ve found myself in such fiery and passionate conversations with my husband about the world right now, that I’m surprised we haven’t burned it all down yet.

The emotional range is wild. It’s not all the time… but it’s often enough where I’m able to register it as not my usual. It’s not disorienting or uncomfortable… it’s just there. Real. Reminding me of my humanness and also permitting myself to feel it all… from then, now and going forward.

I don’t know what’s fully surfacing yet, how long the thaw will take, or where it will lead. I’m not sure I’m supposed to know… or that I need to. But there’s something fitting about feeling this way right now. During a season that asks us to feel before we understand, to soften our grip on certainty, and to make room for what’s been waiting beneath the surface to come through. To trust that emotion moving through us is not something to manage or resolve, but something to follow. Compassion for the parts of us that have been waiting, quietly, to be felt.

Maybe that’s what letting go actually looks like, most of the time. Not a dramatic release, but a slow thaw. Something absorbed back into the earth, where it can quietly become something new.

What in your own life might be in a slow thaw right now… and are you giving it room to move?

Until next time,

Rebecca

The Energy We’re In - Pisces Season

It’s no coincidence this essay found its way to you now. Pisces is the twelfth and final sign of the zodiac, closing out the astrological year… and with it comes a natural energy of transcendence. Having moved through the lessons of the seasons prior, we arrive here with a fuller picture, more understanding, more awareness. We’re ready to choose what to let go of and what to carry forward. And yet, it’s not always so clear what that means, or how.

Pisces is associated with dissolution, with what lives beneath the surface, with what emerges when barriers thin. The slow thaw you might be feeling right now… emotionally, energetically, in your own life… is deeply Piscean. It asks us to trust the unknown and take the next step anyway, believing that as we close one door something waits on the other side.

And perhaps most of all, it asks us to turn toward compassion… for the world around us, yes, but also for ourselves. For the parts of us that have been carrying things quietly. For the emotions that have been waiting, patiently, for permission to move.

“I’m a flower farmer who talks about astrology and the seasons” is often met with a simple nod and a “hmm”, a puzzled look or sometimes even a “so what do you do, exactly?” sort of response. And I get it… either title on its own is probably a bit unexpected, let alone the combination of them.

But let me tell you a bit more…

You see, the seasons and cycles of the natural world aren’t some theoretical thing to me… and they certainly aren’t some general backdrop or aesthetic only. They’re the fabric of my days, and the farm (no matter the season) is the place where the lessons and reminders come to stay. With every seed I plant in the spring I’m reminded that new beginnings sometimes happen from even the smallest step… that hope for the beauty of the future is worth it. With every beetle that gets picked off of a beautiful bloom, or every butterfly that’s watched fluttering from stem to stem, or every bee cozied up for a sleep in the petals of a welcoming bloom, I’m reminded that there is so much more to this world than we sometimes remember… and that we’re all connected to it. With every summer storm I’m reminded of how resilient we can be if we have steady rooting. With every fall as the flowers fade and petals drop, I’m given permission to let go, too… and to honor the transition that comes from making space. You get the picture… and yet I could go on and on with the lessons that this farm teaches me about the seasons we live and the cycles we navigate in our own lives.

While nature has always been a companion of mine, I haven’t always used it as a mirror.

For the past twenty-plus years, after a pivotal moment that I consider to be my dark night of the soul, I’ve been learning how to build a relationship with myself. From the feeling of being directionless and riddled with anxiety, unsure of what my future was capable of looking like, to where I am now, it’s been a slow journey of peeling back the layers to not only understand who I am, but to embrace it. And at some point along the way (about ten years ago if I had to get specific) I realized that nature wasn’t just what I saw in the world around me, and astrology wasn’t just some abstract system of horoscopes and sun signs… these were lenses and mirrors to my being, too.

Astrology gave me the permission I was always looking for from others. You know, the feeling of being unconditionally valued for who you are, what you believe, how you move through the world? Because, you see, when I started looking at the specifics of astrology and my own birth chart, it’s like a lightbulb clicked.

All of a sudden my struggles with making decisions and being up in my head made sense when looking at my Sun and Mars in Gemini. And when I found myself transitioning from jobs (and industries) it wasn’t that I was lost, I was on a scavenger hunt that Pluto in my tenth house was supporting.

I started to understand that Aries season was actually when my own energy felt vibrant enough to start tackling goals and intentions, rather than in January like the Gregorian calendar would suggest. And in Scorpio season when the world embraces the darkness and the hidden depths of who we are, we honor our ancestors and those that have passed… and those that still perhaps walk amongst us.

Astrology now wasn’t only found in the sky, it was found in the seasons because it made up the seasons. For every natural season, there are seasons within it, a beginning, a middle and an end… and that becomes more and more evident when following the astrological energy of the season. Because maybe astrology and the natural seasons were never separate to begin with… both dictated by the sun, both reflecting the same rhythms. The connection was always there… we just stopped being taught to see it.

In my work, my goal is to take a system that might seem abstract and pull it down into the practical and tangible (and modern) world we live in. So that it’s a tool to be used not just a theory to explore. But above all, it’s a tool to help us build a relationship with ourselves. To give ourselves permission to be uniquely and truly who we are - in all of our humanness. We don’t need to be optimized or fixed, we don’t need to be on a never-ending hamster wheel of self-development and wellness fads… we just need to be who we are. But in order to do that, we need to understand who we are…

Her Wild Wonder is for the woman who is crying at the stoplight wondering why she’s feeling so unfulfilled in her life even though it looks good on paper. Who looks to other people for even the smallest opinions until one day she doesn’t even know what her own voice sounds like. It’s for the woman who is paralyzed on the direction to take because she doesn’t know the arms of her own compass. Or who feels blah in summer when the rest of the world is active and vibrant, because the cold and darkness of winter actually feels like her most comfortable space. This space is for Her.

My work, in truth, is the space I wish I had years ago when I was navigating these challenges in my own life. The place where I could learn that who I am - my gifts, my skills, my thought process, my timing and my energy - were unique to me. Something no one else would ever fully understand… and that was okay, because I didn’t need them to. I just needed to understand it myself. It would have been a space where I learned to accept myself… and embrace myself… exactly as I am, instead of feeling like I was someone who needed to be fixed.

If any of this resonates with you, you’re in the right space, and you’re in good company.

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Workbooks

“March comes in like a lion, and out like a lamb.”

I think in some ways that little saying was one of the first intentional thoughts and reminders to watch the season change. And most of the time, it was true. Sure there were the occasional late snow storms and such, but there was always a shift in the world around me.

Spring break would roll around and if you weren’t traveling somewhere warm (which was typically the case for my family of seven), we were breaking out our rollerblades, bikes, and yes… sunbathing on rooftops (which might last approximately ten minutes because while the sun might start to shine and the temperatures might warm up a bit, let’s be real, it was still on average 40°F). But for those of us that survived the harsh winter weather, that felt like spring.

Now, March comes with a different level of excitement and awe. The astrological new year begins, my husband and I celebrate our anniversary, and it’s the month when I start the majority of all my summer seeds. Soon, my hands will be in the soil again, planting intentions and hope for what the future holds.

March is really the month that feels like we’re moving out of winter. It transitions us… and our energy feels it.

But even if you aren’t into growing, there is so much to notice… because March is full of little wonders. Here are a few I’m hoping to notice, some simple reminders of the season shifting if you will… but I’m sure there’ll be more.

Some Simple Wonders of March

1. Snow melts leaving the earth exposed, slowly thawing itself. And even when there’s a late season snow storm (which there usually is) I think of it like a little reminder to remember the lessons I learned during the past season.

2. Spring bulbs start poking through the soil - like snowdrops, crocus, daffodil and tulip tops. I’m always impressed how they’ll literally grow through leaves on the ground to get to the sunlight.

3. Bird song gets louder as they migrate back north, and there’s noticeable variety in the calls.

4. Lakes and rivers will start to move more freely as ice melts… hearing the slow trickles and waves lap onto the shore.

5. My winter sown seeds will likely start sprouting, nestled in their cozy milk jug greenhouses.

6. We’ll gain approximately 90 minutes of daylight by month’s end (or more/less depending on how far north/south you are).

7. Seasonal flavors shift, too. I notice my local coffee shops and bakeries start embracing sweeter flavors like violet, honey, and lavender in their beverages and baked goods.

These are just a few things that help me slow down, notice and appreciate the season shifting. And none of these require anything from me… or us… aside from a few minutes to pay attention.

What about you? What are some of your favorite wonders of March that you’re excited to notice again?

Until next time,

Rebecca

A bit about me…

I’m Rebecca (Becca) - astrologer, flower farmer, and writer exploring life through seasons and cycles. I use astrology and the natural world as lenses for perspective… noticing patterns, timing, and the gentle wonder and wisdom woven through our ordinary days. My work is an invitation to pay attention, to get curious, and to move in rhythm with what feels true to you.

• Personal Astrology Readings

• Seasonal Workbooks

I can understand why she did - and in some ways I was actually flattered by it - because in my brain it meant people notice how I express myself and the work I’m doing, something that I’ve struggled to feel comfortable with for a long time.

In that moment I was able to give a clear “no, I’m not”, even though at some point early on I might have thought it was a path I’d walk. There are parts of the religion that I do gravitate towards and I suppose I thought that if I did, it could be possible that the rest of it would be true for me. And, honestly, it’s hard to not get caught up in the pop culture aesthetic of it all, especially as a teen growing up in the 1990s. Yet the more I understood about the religion, and the more I respected it, the more I realized it wasn’t actually my path.

But her question made me think about how we come to live our own spiritual lives. About the paths we walk, the practices we embrace, and the beliefs we hold. And… how do we really know whether they feel true to ourselves or not?

I had my first spiritual awakening twenty-some years ago. It followed an event where my life was pretty shaken to the core and there were many days where I didn’t know what to do. To say I was uncomfortable in my skin, in my mind, in my spirit is an understatement. I felt foreign in my own being… I didn’t know which way was up.

It was during that time I started to look for more sources of support as a way to build from the rubble. Physically, mentally, emotionally… and spiritually. It was a full-court press where I allowed myself to witness the discomfort, to try to understand it, and to figure out what it meant to move through it.

The second “awakening” came ten or so years later. It was different from the first, but equally as impactful.

And after the second one I doubled down specifically into my spirituality. It was then when I absorbed all of the teachings I could… especially because social media was now a thing (which it wasn’t during my first awakening circa 2004-2005, which most times I’m grateful for). I followed teachers, I subscribed to the gurus, I read books about consciousness, the law of attraction, and manifestation. I focused on healing while trusting the universe. I started learning about energetics, astrology, and mysticism in a way I hadn’t before. I was an absolute sponge of spiritual and self-development information (and I know those are different, but nowadays I think there is a big overlap, too).

But at some point the sponge became sopping wet and weighted down by all of the liquid… and so it needed to be rung out. And that’s something I’ve been noticing more of lately…

It seems like we’re in a bit of a spiritual boomerang in some ways. And not for all, but for many. I think we’re waking up to spirituality in a new way and questioning what we once accepted without hesitation. We’re questioning teachers and spiritual leaders… about their integrity and accountability. We’re questioning the theories that were adopted quickly because they felt good or (let’s be real) were trendy...and realizing that maybe those weren’t fully understood or credible. We’re questioning the practices that are being taken from cultures and portrayed by others without the appropriate cultural context and understanding. And we’re definitely questioning what’s happening behind the ceremonial robes to understand the money trail.

We’re starting to sift through it all and ask “what is true for me?”. And because of all of that… we’re holding ourselves more accountable, too.

I think it can be a beautiful thing to feel a pull towards other beliefs and practices, especially when so many seem to share the most basic of common values: love. And, I also think there are many people who are seekers in life… looking for that connection, that support, for that guiding power outside of ourselves. Who seek to understand as a way of exposure and human connection. I think there’s a natural exploration of spirituality in life because it is such an individual path.

So the exploration is important… as is the integrity. There is nuance in everything, including our spiritual beliefs, and that nuance matters because it allows us to discern.

On my own path, I started to ring the water-logged sponge out… realizing that not everything I was taking in was meant to be mine, nor did I want it to be.

I started to wonder about the values and morals behind the people who were sharing their “wisdom”. I started to question where my place was… not because I felt lost but because I wanted to feel grounded in truth. I wanted to know that what I was practicing actually felt true to me… not because it was impressive or aligned with someone else’s story and not because it was a trend on social media. And I knew above all else, I never wanted to be part of something that didn’t account for historical implication, the realities of the world and the day-to-day responsibilities and lived experiences we all have.

But I also wanted to be real with myself because 20 years ago some things might have been really helpful… but now they might not be. Shoot, even two years ago they could have been helpful, but now that might not be. True discernment in our spirituality is about both the external and the internal aspects of it.

Because at some point, it feels like spirituality is here to help us to actually build a trust within ourselves, too. So… when do we start to recognize that? When do we notice that what we were reaching for outside of ourselves has already taken root within us?

I don’t think the answer is to reject teachers or practices or traditions (unless they’re blatantly wrong/discredited/etc). And I don’t think the answer is to stop questioning them either… because true discernment feels like both. Where we’re looking outward with integrity… and inward with honesty.

What do you think? Is there something in your own spiritual system or beliefs that maybe once was helpful but isn’t feeling the same now?

Until next time,

Rebecca

The Energy We’re In - Pisces Season

Pisces is the twelfth and final sign of the zodiac, the closing season of the astrological year. This energy is one of transcendence: having moved through the lessons of the seasons prior, we now have a fuller picture, ready to choose what to shed, what to leave behind, and what to carry forward… and we do so through discernment.

Pisces is a water sign, connected to our emotional world, but specifically to our intuition and emotional consciousness, which is why it’s so tied to mysticism and spirituality. It’s the hidden realm of our subconscious: the feelings we sense even when we’re not fully aware of them, guiding us toward insight, reflection, and integration.

Aquarius energy is often described as visionary, future-focused and collective… all of which are true. But at its core, Aquarius is about authenticity within community. It’s about the courage to stand slightly apart… while still remembering we belong to something bigger.

A new moon solar eclipse doesn’t want us to perform any grand intention-setting ritual like we might on another new moon. In fact, it wants simple… and all we really need to do is notice.

Notice where you’ve outgrown something, or perhaps where you’ve been thinking differently lately. Notice the quiet pull toward a new perspective… a new way of participating in your own life.

Eclipses have a way of speeding things up. They’re the cosmos working in overdrive… rearranging pieces, warping timelines. They bring forward what was already quietly building beneath the surface which means we don’t actually have to grip the reins and try to manifest our way into a new future right now. This energy tends to unfold on its own.

But that doesn’t mean it’s immediate, especially as we’re just beginning to step into the Aquarius/Leo eclipse axis. What starts stirring now will continue developing over the next sixe months… even the next couple of years. This is an opening chapter, not the full story, and what shifts under this eclipse may start as a thought, a realization, or a subtle redirect that will only later become something visible and concrete.

And with Uranus in Taurus squaring this eclipse, there’s an added element of disruption to our comfort zones. Uranus tends to shake up what feels fixed… it’s a little rebellious. Taurus prefers stability, predictability, and something solid to stand on, so there may be tension between the future you’re sensing and the security you’re used to.

That tension isn’t here to create chaos for the sake of it, though. It’s here to loosen what’s become too rigid. To gently (or, honestly, not so gently) remind us that growth rarely happens inside perfectly controlled conditions. If you think back on the growth from your own life, there’s a good chance it came when you went through some sort of shift, yes?

You might feel this as:

• A sudden urge to change something practical.

• Restlessness around money, work, or daily routines.

• A realization that the way you’ve been holding “security” needs to evolve.
  

Again… this doesn’t require immediate action but it’s information. Something ti be aware of and to notice if you’re feeling a little nudge from the universe.

Sometimes the most Aquarian thing we can do is allow the disruption to reveal what’s outdated… instead of scrambling to stabilize it right away. This is where eclipses can be helpful… because sometimes we’re too close to seeing what needs to change.

One small thing I’m doing:

I don’t overcomplicate eclipses. In fact, I simplify them even more than a regular new moon. They feel bigger than me… and I’ve learned not to force clarity when it isn’t there yet. So I’ll sit in the dark for a few minutes without trying to “call anything in”. No list of manifestations, no perfect journaling prompts, no intentions burning in my tiny cast iron cauldron.

Just a candle lit and a page in my notebook with one question at the top:

Where am I ready to think differently?

And I’ll let whatever comes up… come up. Free-writing, scribbling on pages, no editing. Then I’ll close the notebook and leave it there. No action required from what came up, just being mindful and noticing what did. Because as much as I love a good ritual and the alchemy that comes from our own magical practices… sometimes simple, sometimes just noticing is enough.

If you’d like to work with this eclipse in an everyday sort of way, here are a few ideas:

• Step back from the noise. Give yourself a few extra moments by logging off a little earlier than you might usually do. Or, maybe take a little break all-together for the day. Giving your mind a chance to clear a bit so you can hear your own thoughts again.

• Reach out in a small but meaningful way. Aquarius is community-oriented so checking in on someone or sending a friendly message can be a simple way to honor the energy.

• Spend a few minutes under the night sky. Even if you can’t see the eclipse directly (most of us in the U.S. won’t be able to) you can still look up. When the moon is new the sky is dark, which means it will be full of stars. Let yourself remember how small and interconnected we are at the same time.

• Get some rest. If you’re able to carve out extra time for yourself, try to keep the schedule light. New moons are typically a more restful time (given the light isn’t reflected from the sun) and the eclipse energy only amplifies that. Rest, nourish yourself, nurture yourself.

None of this is about predicting the future or controlling what shifts next. It’s not about perfectly setting intentions that will lock you into a five-year plan. And it’s not about any elaborate sort of day.

It’s just about making space…space for a new thought, for a version of you that’s ready to show, and for the kind of future that feels more honest than impressive.

And letting that be enough for now.

Until next time,

Rebecca

There is always a noticeable difference in my mood when the sun is out. I feel the life and vitality starting to pulse through my veins… the feeling that anything is possible and that my energy knows no limits. Like something inside me wakes up and says, “oh hello, there… now we’re getting somewhere” (in my favorite Moira Rose voice).

I’m sure you know that feeling, too, yes? And especially this time of year when we (at least here in the Northern Hemisphere) are inching our way towards spring. I can feel the energy starting to rise… while also knowing we aren’t quite there, yet.

The ground is still frozen beneath the surface, even if one afternoon feels hopeful. (In fact, this morning on our walk we slid around like a figure skater (without the grace) because all of the melting froze into sheets of black ice.)

That tension though, between rising energy and lingering winter, feels important right now. Because lately, I’ve been noticing that same pattern in us.

Over the past few weeks, we’ve witnessed several moments of collective intensity.

We come together politically, stirred by outrage or fear or conviction, to protest and demand accountability. For a few days, it feels like something might actually shift.

We gather around culture and music… joy, pride, absolute electricity… and for a moment we remember what shared experience feels like and the beauty that comes through diversity.

We watch global events like the Olympics and feel hopeful seeing countries stand under one banner, in unity, and all of a sudden the world feels small… shared.

In those moments, something in us lights up. We feel anger, inspiration, connection, empowerment… the list could go on.

And then… it fades.

We feel the anger… and then the headlines change (although, if we’re being real, they probably change to something else that angers us more).

We feel the inspiration… and then the daily routine returns and we’re back working instead of planning a trip to Puerto Rico or dancing our way down the sidewalks.

We feel the connection… and then the unified intensity dissipates as medals are handed out.

It’s not that we stop caring, but it’s that the emotional peak passes. And that doesn’t make us inconsistent or hypocritical… and it doesn’t mean what was done was “performative”... it makes us human.

But as we’ve crested the top of the rollercoaster or surfed the wave, we now find ourselves… well, where do we find ourselves exactly?

And that’s the part I keep circling back to.

Our emotions are powerful and they’re often the spark that moves us into action in the first place… they drive us. Without them, we might stay numb, complacent, and melancholic in some cases. But it seems that most emotionally driven actions often come as reactions. They’re the heightened emotions that push us to “do something” quickly, urgently… because we’re fueled by adrenaline and motivated by them. Our attention narrows and we’re moved by them. That is deeply beautiful because to feel is to be human.

And sometimes that’s appropriate, because sometimes urgency is required. But long-term change - in our lives or in the world - is rarely sustained by adrenaline alone. There’s a difference between reacting because we’re activated and responding because we’ve decided.

I remember during my time as a health coach speaking with clients about their motivation to change their habits and having a recurring conversation that if we only relied on our motivation, we’d never get anywhere. Because emotions are fleeting, they rise and fall like the tides. Emotions are quite literally energy in motion (e-motion), not consistent anchors.

So if our action only exists at the peak of the wave… what happens when the water settles? If they’re only fueled by the surge… what happens when the surge fades?

When the outrage softens, do we still show up beyond the protest… in the policies, the conversations, the everyday choices?

When the inspiration settles and the stage goes dark, do we still celebrate and support the culture which moved us?

When the sense of connection disperses, do we still remember our shared humanity beyond borders, flags and medal counts?

Maybe our emotions aren’t instructions, but indicators… pointing us toward what we value. They reveal what stirs about within us an they show us where something matters… and what matters. But values require steadiness… and steadiness doesn’t feel dramatic. Honestly, it feels like the opposite. Our emotions can help fuel us - and they should - but they’re not meant to be the whole engine.

I’ve been noticing the birds quite a bit lately. They’re getting louder, and I’m seeing some I haven’t seen all winter, again signaling something to come. And as I was writing this, I thought of birds, but more about their flight patterns and how they ride along on the wind. If you’ve ever looked up at the sky to watch a bird fly, you’ll notice that they don’t flap their wings constantly but instead they let the current carry them.

They don’t mistake every gust of wind for a command to exhaust themselves… they conserve their energy.

Collective emotion feels like a strong, directional and loud gust. But not every gust is meant to determine our entire path. Especially in a time when so much competes for our attention… outrage here, inspiration there, crisis somewhere else… it’s easy to be pulled from one emotional peak to the next. Our nervous systems stay activated, our focus becomes fragmented, and before anything really has time to steady, we’re onto the next thing.

And I’m not suggesting we detach or become indifferent. Feeling deeply is not the problem. In many ways, it’s our greatest strength.

But right now, our emotions tend to follow where our attention goes. And our attention is constantly being directed… often time strategically… toward whatever will keep us engaged, outraged, or inspired just long enough to move on to the next thing.

So maybe the work, and the challenge we’re all being asked of, isn’t to suppress the surge… but to channel it. To let anger clarify our boundaries instead of just fueling a comment section. To let inspiration show us what kind of world we want to build… and then ask what small, consistent actions would actually support that. To let connection remind us that community does matter… and then choose where we’ll invest our energy beyond the spectacle.

That kind of action is a response… not a reaction… and it looks like consistency over intensity. And I get it, consistency rarely feels as powerful in the moment as a collective emotional high. It feels much better to go for a run when you feel like going for a run, than to go for a run when you don’t. But consistency is what builds something to last.

Right now we still sit in winter, and even though we know the light is returning, the season hasn’t fully shifted. Maybe this is the moment to notice what stirs in us without mistaking every emotional surge to a call to immediate action. Maybe it’s recognizing what emotions are invitations to channel, plan, and gain insight not for a sense of urgency but from a sense of devotion to real progress.

Because the emotion will fade… it always does. The real question we need to be asking ourselves is what we choose to carry forward with once it does.

Until next time,

Rebecca

The Energy We’re In - Aquarius Season

Aquarius season tends to bring a more observational lens. This is the part of the zodiac that zooms out, studies the patterns, and questions the status quo. It’s innovative, yes, but it’s also discerning. Rather than acting purely from emotional impulse, Aquarius asks us to think about sustainability, community, and the systems we participate in. In that way, this season supports reflection before reaction. It reminds us that collective change isn’t built on emotional spikes alone, but on clarity, intention, and consistent engagement.

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