Saturday night the glass ceiling cracked that had capped my pleasure and life-joy. I melted, I moulted, I was reborn. I told my bovine birthday brother that Aries fire might be dampened if we give up, but it can never die … he thanked me. He might have cried.

No words describe the highs that blossomed in bright sweet blurs and bubbles of clarity. Making love after marinating in music, mojo and rampant hotness was an auspicious beginning to the end of the night and a fit anniversary for me and Pea, nine years together on Reuben’s birthday. Blessed be.

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