“You are not selfish,” I said firmly. “You are human. You are a mother trying to make a life that actually works.”
“But is it… allowed?” she whispered. “Astrologically, I mean. Am I meant to do this? Or am I meant to suck it up and stay at the supermarket because it’s sensible?”
The question pulsed through the air, hitting the web of threads. They flared, two distinct paths brightening. Reaching out, I brushed my hand lightly across the threads, careful not to pull on them.
On one side I saw Greta at the supermarket, ten years from now. Eyes flat, shoulders hunched, an air of defeat around her. The money was… fine. Stable. But she was shrinking. It wasn’t a job suited to what she needed to light her up.
On the other side I could see Greta with her sewing business. A quiet pride in her posture as she locked up her tiny shop one evening, the lights of the village twinkling around her.
I stared, pulse racing. The truth wasn’t that one path was “safe” and the other was “dangerous.” They both had risk. The difference waswhichkind of hard she chose.
As I watched, the path of the quilts flickered, some threads thin, others thicker. It wasn’t a guarantee. It was a possibility.
Instinct guided my hand again. I reached for one of the thinner threads that branched from that path—the one tied to her Venus, I realized. To her willingness to be seen.
Now another image flickered. It was of Greta hiding her business, treating it like a guilty hobby versus Greta actually telling people, putting up a proper website, showing up at markets. The latter wove stronger lines of support from the community. I took a breath, then plucked that thread gently, imagining it thickening, anchoring.
The weave shifted, subtle but real.
Power thrummed through me, hot and bright. My fingers tingled.
Chartweaver.
The word echoed again, louder this time. Somewhere deep in my memory, a whisper surfaced—my gran bent over her big leather book, muttering something about a weaver that I’d half tuned out as a teenager, more interested in boys and eyeliner.
“Lass,”Bracken murmured, awe in his tiny voice.“Ye just nudged her future.”
“Is that… bad?” I thought, panic spiking.
“It depends,”he said.“On whether you remember that threads can tangle if you yank on them.”
“Bracken, you’re not helping,” I hissed internally.
“Then maybe don’t play with the loom while you’re mid-appointment,”he retorted.“Finish the reading. We’ll dissect your crisis while you’re in your pajamas later.”
Fair.
I turned my attention fully back to Greta, who was gaping at me as I muttered to the squirrel on my shoulder, fingers curling into my palm under the table to stop myself from reaching for more threads.
“Greta,” I said softly. “Astrology doesn’t usually come with a neon sign that says quit your job. It gives us cycles and themes,windows where certain choices are supported. You, right now, are in a powerful window for building something from home that’s rooted in your heart. Something that honors your grief instead of pretending it’s not there. Your second house, your income, is lit up with opportunities for work that’s relational and creative. Your tenth house is screaming for a career that is personal and not some faceless corporation. Your fourth house, home, is where the action wants to be. This quilting business? It aligns with all of that.”
“But the risk,” she whispered. “What if it fails?”
“It might,” I said honestly. I didn’t want to sugarcoat it. “Not because you’re not capable, but because any new business has growing pains. But your chart shows that if you give it a structured go—set hours, real pricing, treat it like a job, not just a hobby—you have every chance of making it work. Especially over the next eighteen months while that North Node is in your career house. This is your jumping-off point.”
Greta’s eyes brimmed again. “I’m scared.”
“Of course you are,” I said. “That’s totally normal. I would be too.”
“You would?”
“But you’re not just leaping without a parachute,” I continued. “You can build a bridge. Could you, for example, scale back at the supermarket first? Reduce shifts as your quilt orders increase? Give yourself a timeline—say, six months where you throw everything at this business and reassess? That way you can ease into it. It’s a transition.”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I could ask for fewer nights. They’re not desperate for staff, so… they might let me drop some shifts.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, thinking. “And I could use the time I’m currently trying to nap in the day to sew instead. At least at first.”
“The chart supports that,” I said. “It doesn’t say the path will be effortless. But it does say that if you work with this energy—if youchooseto step into it—you’re not walking alone. You’ll find allies. Your community wants what you’re offering.”
“That sounds… really rewarding,” she whispered.