We have lived, since the time of my grandfather, in the fields near the Golden Gate.  The city is poor, and the Christians who would come to sing or trade jewelry, now seek divination of all kinds.  

But who can change the cards?  One day, the Ruined Tower; the next, the statue of the Holy Mother falls from her bier as she is being carried through the streets.  Then, the Moon in red eclipse.   A lumious fog smothers the city.

I have asked my husband to quit this City of Constantine.  He believes the tribe is safer here, behind the triple walls.  I show him the Hanged Man.   He laughs, and  he says Easter is coming.   As he returns to making a small dagger for our son, I place:

The card of the Emperor.

Reversed.

It will go badly for us.

 

DreamingDaysThe PastPassingToCome

EPIPHANY :: The Fortuneteller, Anna, Speaks