When the owner of the Steeple City Social café opened his doors at 5 PM, there was a small crowd of people outside, buffeted by the wind and waiting to come in. As they entered, I could hear the bells of the First Baptist Church of North Adams ringing the hour. North Adams is affectionately called Steeple City, as its skyline is dominated by short, sharp 19th century churches that all ring their tones to mark time and the moments in parishioners’ lives.
Under a sliver of new moon and the sound of church bells, the town Witch was sat in the corner of the café with her tarot cards spread out, ready to read for the people of this small Berkshires town on the long night of the winter solstice.
I’m sure I’m not the only Witch in my little town. There’s a Jeep that’s always parked at my grocery store with a triple moon sticker in its back window. But so far I haven’t met any. I wasn’t sure who would come for a solstice tarot reading, but I was ready and willing to take all comers.
A candle and a Rider-Waite-Smith tarot deck displaying the Wheel of Fortune, with the Empress, Death, and three of swords also visible. [subarasikiai, Pixabay]
The first person to come sit in the antique dining chair across from me was a friend, a cartoonist and local bon vivant who runs the town’s grownup skate club. I fanned the cards out and asked her to pick one. Significator laid, I told her about 2026.
Reading tarot cards is one of the oldest parts of my practice. I bought an oversize major arcana deck when I was about 15 and took it to school, laying the giant cards down and pretending I hadn’t memorized the book only the night before. When I finally added the minor arcana in, it seemed to me that each suit told a story, ace to ten, and ended in the same tiresome family dynamics as every other when it came to the pages and queens. Even then, I understood that I was speaking to my own unconscious mind much more than I was peering into the future. Even then, I knew that if you do it right, people read their own cards and all you have to do is shuffle up and deal.
“I know exactly who that is,” said the young woman with the strawberry-blonde hair as she tapped her finger on the Knight of Cups. “I cut him loose, not two weeks ago.”
“But he’s still on your mind,” I told her, stating the obvious with the gravity of a psychic.
I laid another card down in the Celtic cross. “Let’s talk about your work,” I said, taking in the patient young man watching his crops come up bearing fat gold coins.
I never read for money until I was good at it. That took years, and I always caution people who are new to reading tarot against trying to turn it into an industry. The art is not in the facility of your shuffle or in your understanding of the symbolism of each of the miniature paintings Pamela Colman Smith executed without credit. It is like any other form of divination: entirely in yourself and the subtle energies you can feel. The cards might as well be blank, the runes might as well be stones. Your crystal ball could easily be swapped for an upended goldfish bowl. All the work happens between your ears, and between those of your querent. The cards are a mirror, and the money is just a reminder that we’re not here to waste each other’s time.
“The three of swords is one of those cards that only means one thing,” I say, as straightforwardly as I know how. “This is betrayal, by someone close to you. It typically comes out of nowhere and strikes you in a vulnerable place. This is the card you pull just before your wife sleeps with your best friend, or Zuckerberg cuts you out of Facebook even though you founded the company together.”
The querent always laughs, because they know what I mean. And then their eyes go back to the card, the luscious red heart with three swords run through it. They usually don’t know what it’s going to mean, but every one of them has a person in mind who they believe would do it.
A set of three tarot cards lay balanced against a glass candle burner [Jean-Didier, Pixabay]
These days, I read for friends when they ask. I pull cards for myself before big changes: before my books come out or before my wedding. Or when facing down the new year, as I am now, looking into 2026. The last year saw a great deal of change. I’m ending it in Steeple City, though it began in Brooklyn. I’m working on stories I hadn’t yet conceived when this last year began. On the winter solstice in 2025, I pulled the wheel of fortune for myself. I know what that means because I’ve been on this carnival ride before. Big changes were coming and some of them would be things I hadn’t yet imagined.
This year, I laid down the wheel of fortune for someone who came to sit at my table. “This is a moment when a lot of change is possible,” I say. “You’re about to have a lot of options, and the end of 2026 will probably look quite different from its beginning.”
My querent nodded, pushing their hands deep under their thighs on the upholstered chair. “I’m about to graduate,” they said. “I’m not sure what’s next.”
“Let’s find out,” I told them, laying down the next card.
According to my deck, what’s next for me is the two of swords. Another unequivocal card – this one always means a decision must be made. A way must be chosen. You can’t go in the middle and you can’t have both: you will have to pick a path through the woods. I’m not sure what that will mean for 2026, but most readings come into focus only in the rear view.
Two of Pentacles from the Rider-Waite-Smith deck [public domain]
One of the last people I read for that night was going to speak at the community event being held in that same space. He sat down and didn’t tell me much, just asked for a general reading. I fanned out the cards and had him choose. He drew the two of pentacles: a figure juggling two discs inside of an infinity sign.
“That’s you,” I began.
His mouth quirked up in an amused smile.
I told him the rest and he thanked me. When it was time for him to take the stage, he reached into his pocket and took out his juggling balls.
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