Sun in Gemini

The two brightest stars of Gemini are Castor and Pollux, the heads of the Twins. In the Greek story one brother was mortal and one was not, and when the mortal one died the other refused to be parted from him, so they share their days, half under the earth and half among the stars.

You keep the same arrangement. There is the you at the party, quick, funny, everywhere at once, and the you at the end of the night, reading and thinking, quieter than anyone would guess. People who only meet one of them do not know your Sun at all.

Strangers tell you things

The driver on the way to the airport, the person behind you at the pharmacy, the new colleague on their first morning: five minutes with you and they have said more than they meant to, and they walk away feeling interesting. A thought is not finished until you have said it to someone. At work you know who to ask, you carry news between departments, and you write the email everyone else was dreading. Mercury, the messenger, rules your sign, and your work is nearly always a kind of translation: you explain one set of people to another.

A month on birds

You learn in bursts. A month on birds, a winter on Italian, a year on something nobody at work has heard of. Boredom is the only thing that really frightens you, and two small jobs you love beat one large one whose end you can already see. Your notes are full of half-plans, and a surprising number of them happen.

Halfway to the next thing

The trouble is depth. You start more than you finish, and a subject that stops being new stops being interesting, even when the best part was just ahead. You can talk about a feeling for an hour without once feeling it. Friends who need you to be still with them find you already halfway to the next thing.

Under all the talk, though, there is one subject that has held you for twenty years, and when you speak about that one, people go quiet to listen.