Riding The Fire Horse, Ready for Lunar New Year

The Fire Horse comes once every sixty years.

I feel it under my skin like a current running through every nerve. A hum in my bones. A pull I can’t name but can’t resist.

As a Wood Rat, I am usually clever, watchful, patient (well, mostly) — someone who observes a lot, plans enough, calculates a little. The Fire Horse doesn’t wait. It doesn’t hesitate. It refuses rules. It insists. It flares. It gallops.

All the quiet “rules” I’ve relied on suddenly feel too small, too slow, too safe.

Last year was Snake — quiet, strategic, patient. Months of observing, cataloguing, noticing every pattern, every rhythm. I shed old habits, routines, assumptions that no longer fit. I practiced careful steps, long reflections, deliberate patience. I learned to pause, to weigh, to measure.

“Measure twice, cut once,” my mother’s voice echoes in my memory.

But patience left me restless. My hands fidget. My mind races. I’m itching for motion, for risk, for audacity. The Fire Horse doesn’t …