Fire Horse, New Moon

The Fire Horse does not ask permission
to enter a year.
It arrives with heat in its lungs,
with hooves striking flint from stone,
with a mane full of weather and prophecy.

And tonight, beneath the New Moon—
that dark, deliberate pause in the sky—
I begin again.

This is a new day.
Not the decorative kind,
not the type announced with trumpets,
but the quiet, tectonic shift
that happens beneath the ribs
When the spirit speaks to the earth.

The Fire Horse teaches motion.
The New Moon teaches stillness.
Between them, I stand—
mind clarified,
body listening,
soul aligned,
spirit attentive to the whisper
that says:
What does not fit, must leave.

And so—

I release the rooms that shrink me.
I release the conversations that blur me.
I release the narratives that never knew my name.

I release.
I release.
I release.

Like ash falling from a phoenix’s wing.
Like salt dissolving back into the sea.
Like breath finally exhaled
after years of holding.

The Fire Horse gallops through my bloodstream—
not reckless, but resolute.
It burns away hesitation,
not to destroy,
But to refine.

The New Moon cups the darkness gently,
reminding me that emptiness
is not absence—
It is preparation.

Abundance does not shout;
It settles.
Protection does not posture.
It surrounds.
Clarity does not argue.
It illuminates.
Confidence does not chase.
It stands.

Tonight, I choose to stand.

Steady as earth.
Bright as flame.
Open as sky.

Mind, body, soul, and spirit
in conversation again—
as the wind confers with the soil,
as fire consults the air,
as water remembers its source.

What no longer aligns
falls away without ceremony.
What remains
It's mine by design.

I do not fear the burn.
I do not fear the dark.
I know what both are for.

The Fire Horse carries me forward—
fierce, protected, unhurried.
The New Moon witnesses—
quiet, infinite, patient.

And I walk into this new day
uncluttered,
unapologetic,
abundantly my own—

Sherley Delia