When it comes to spirit animals, Miss Piggy has a place in my pantheon. As she rightly articulated this week - and I respectfully paraphrase - we fight to hold on and oh my giddy aunt how hard we fight to simply let go. Held fast as we are in the syrupy thick of the dark moon, we are now painfully brutally aware of all that eclipse season has excised from our lives.

Oh that bridge of sighs between eclipses. Herewith the pointy end of this mad season, as we round the final bend and descend into the dark of the moon. We are not there yet, not nearly. These dark days are the eclipse slingshot drawing back, taut and shaking.