Magic happens (Neptune in Pisces). It happens all the time, right under our noses. It is awkward and messy. It goes toe-to-toe with strategy, structure and details (Jupiter in Virgo).

Recently Magic and I had a chance encounter. It skated in on the rain, kissing windowpanes with unabandoned mischief. Magic teased me into the Westfield Mall, a towering holiday dollhouse of shops in San Francisco’s chic downtown.  Holiday shoppers swarmed, frantic with obligation and desire.  It swept me into the arms of my nieces, whom I love with fierce devotion.

Rebecca, the eldest, is as neat and tidy as the proverbial pin. She is a Scorpio, born on her mother’s birthday 20 years ago. In her own words, she is rational, balanced and psychologically intact. “Everyone comes to me with their problems,” she assured me. “It’s because I am the sanest person that I know.” Her pure essence is that of clean linen sheets, pressed into obedient folds and ready to put on a bed. Her gaze is steady and unwavering, as is her body.

Natalie, nearly 18, is chaotic and rebellious, outspoken curls pulled back so that they don’t offend. She is a Capricorn, but four planets in Aquarius add a twist of renegade.

Natalie and her mother have locked horns many times. Rebecca, a junior attending a prestigious college in Canada, was only occasionally contentious as a teenager. It never occurred to her to throw a temper tantrum. Natalie is famous for hers. “How are things with you and your mom?” I asked Natalie. Her reply: “Better. She pretty much lets me do what I want.”

“I heard that you got grounded for life.” “Which time?” she asked, lightly. “You were housesitting, had a party and left the place a mess.” It took her a minute to remember.  “Oh, yeah. That time.” “Pause. “I’ll sure never do that again.” This was not spoken with apology, but rather with a certain thoughtful wisdom.

When we parted ways, Magic followed me home, warming the damp underground train. It rained all day, gloriously and without apology. At dusk, a dozen carolers migrated down to our home, stopping to warble “A Partridge in a Pear Tree.” Magic and I careened down the 28 stairs to the street. I wore only fake Uggs and long silk underwear and clutched a bottle of champagne.

A woman with tangles of wavy hair and eyes like dark stars shining sang and laughed when I clumsily thrust the bottle at her. She took it without missing a note, as if she were expecting it. I sang off-key to the familiar refrain and then scrambled upstairs. I ran to an open window, howling off-key with joy. The woman waved the champagne at me as we finished the last bars of the song.

A minute later, she was not to be seen, nor were her fellow carolers. Magic had tucked them under an invisible wing. All was quiet, tucked in, well-behaved. A man and his two terriers briskly moved through the rain and then they, too, vanished.

Magic is always present, but we do not stop to acknowledge it. Yet it runs through us, like blood, like air, like the pulse of life. Love is the same. Magic and love are synonymous. They are forever lovers.

Now go out and cast a spell. Then just wait, be quite, quite still. The answer is sure to come in ways you may not expect. But come they will.

Love & mischief,

Joyce