22–24.07.26
My dog Biscuit and I were walking back from the neighborhood park yesterday, a morning ritual every day I don’t have to catch an early ferry to San Francisco. Our route skirts the edge of the Catholic graveyard that holds the remains of my previous three generations so I always have one eye open for signs and portents with the readiness of a sprinter on his blocks awaiting the pistol.
About halfway down the length of God’s own acre, and perpendicular to the family plot, we passed a single playing card lying face down on the curb. My first thought was, “Not today, Satan. You aren’t sticking me with the old Ace of Spades that easily. Biscuit was nonchalant. We got about four steps down the road when my damned curiosity got the better of me.
If it was the death card, I thought I’d stick it in the band of my vaqueiro straw hat and let ol’ Scratch come and get it. I had just been gifted a beautiful pheasant feather, which currently holds pride of place. That particular feather is seen to symbolize renewal, protection, and self-expression. I thought the worst that could happen would be they cancel each other out. As long as my hat didn’t catch fire, I should be fine.
Flipping the card over revealed it to be the Seven of Diamonds, a card that calls for stepping back and evaluating one’s life, a call for heavy reflection, something that I was already involved in, being that I am staring down the double barrels of my 60th birthday. I took it as encouragement to stay on the path of contemplation, which is never a bad idea. Thanks, folks.
Román Leão 
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