I have a confession to make. I have always loved astrology. My daily horoscope is sometimes spot on, sending chills down my spine, and at other times, I feel like it must pertain to the millions of other Scorpios in the world because none of it applies to me. But that’s part of the fun. It is kind of spooky that a celestial reading can be so on point with my mood of the day or with what is going on in my life. Some suggestions are valid, like maybe keeping a conversation I’ve been burning to have with a coworker or a loved one for another day. It may cause me to pause and think about my actions based on my feelings. Or it just may give me a boost by reassuring me that whatever I am experiencing is temporary and things will be better tomorrow when the moon moves into a different star sign.

Whatever the reason, I have fully celebrated my Scorpio self ever since I heard the word astrology and learned what my sun sign was. Lately, I have read many articles claiming that we are in Scorpio season. My star sign has a season? It makes perfect sense to me, given everything that gets jam packed into the thirty days the sun is in Scorpio. Dias de los Muertos, a celebration for the dead. Samhain, an ancient Gaelic harvest festival. Halloween, (yes I still dress up each year and always will, embracing the darkness, magic and creativity both in nature and in myself). It’s the season of the Witch and things that go bump in the night. It is said the veil between the worlds is thin at this time so all kinds of supernatural events and meetings can occur. The earth in the northern hemisphere is slowly settling down for a long winter’s nap.

As otherworldly as that all may sound, the stars truly do have formations named for the astrological signs and are studied by astronomers and astrologers alike. We live on a tiny celestial body in the middle of an enormous solar system that is in constant motion so it does make sense that these motions would affect us emotional humans in our daily lives. Can it predict my future? Meh. Will it help me win the lottery? I fully doubt that although that tiny flame of hope blooms each time I buy a ticket. But it can make me stop and think. That alone is sometimes all I need.

Scorpio season triggers my yearly time of reflection and planning. I mark another trip around the sun, grateful for the gift of aging that is denied to many. The air feels magical, cold, and crisp. The colors of autumn burst brilliantly before dying and carpeting the earth. Secrets and whispers ride the wind, vivid dreams, and messages are around every corner if I choose to heed them. Time to plan for the coming year, what I will create, how I will heal, whom I will be able to spend my time with, where I will travel. The very air feels pregnant with possibilities and I embrace and grab them into my experience. I sense the moon’s phases acutely, basking in the light when it is full.

And yet I am still myself. I love to read my daily horoscope but I make up my own mind on how to move forward on any given day. Years ago, an astrologer at a party told me never to marry another Scorpio. I did anyway because, in true Scorpio fashion, no one gets to tell me what to do. We are still together forty-one years later. I would love to meet with that person again to ask why he made that comment. Maybe he meant the intense Scorpio energy would cause us to burn each other out. But in our case, it’s kept the fires burning. Which goes to show that one’s horoscope should be a guideline but never a directive. Still, I will light my candles and journal daily searching for the celestial and earthly guideposts to mark my journey. ‘Tis the season, after all.