Scorpio rising.

The child, the student, the scientist.

The mother. The giving one.

Forget yourself .

And then we come to it again.

And step into a new one.

It is the Scorpio in me rising and itching to let go of its skin.

It had grown too tight (again)

And I feel it. The need to peal it back and reveal what is underneath.

I am scared of it.

The radiant thing.

The becoming.

The changing yet again.

Turn, turn, turn, turning

Your children are growing

And don’t need as much giving.

And your heart is in the field

Out there and it is singing.

Come find it again

Put it back in your chest

It isn’t for those who wish to impress

But a longing fogotten

In the weave and the weft.