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I was walking. My eyes were still heavy with fatigue. The sidewalk handed me its gift:
a Nine of Spades, dropped like a cosmic joke.
No king, no queen, no jack… no: the nine, awkward number, a crooked threshold between ending and beginning.

It seemed as if fate had amused itself by tossing me this card.
It arrived right in this month of September, just before the eclipse.
The stars prepare to draw a curtain.
I pick up their calling card: a black, dry, sharp symbol.

Coincidence? Of course not.
Chance loves to wink at me sarcastically — especially in times of transition.
The job cut back. The coat flew away. Friends vanished like dust…
and then the sidewalk whispers:
“See, it was all just a game. You lost the round, but you gained clarity.”

I smiled. A smile bitter, tender.
The Nine of Spades is not a punishment. It’s a reminder.
A reminder that the eclipse is not only a celestial drama.
It’s also a chance for shadow, where one can finally see the outline of one’s own light.