Rain against the window of the one house you still call home in your sleep, and the particular chair you used to fold into just to listen to it fall. You were born with your Moon in the fourth house, the kitchen of the soul, the house of roots and the ancestral pulse under the floor, and here the Moon is fully at home, no translation needed. Family is your first alphabet. You learned to feel by watching how the people who raised you handled their own weather, and you carry the whole climate with you now. A home that runs deep and quiet is where your nervous system finally sets the breath all the way down, and if you do not have that room yet, you are allowed to build it from scratch. Honor the mother you actually had and the one you wished for; both of them live in your inner climate, and pretending otherwise only makes the draft colder. The slow work of your life is a home that does not need silence to feel safe, where being truly seen is part of the warmth instead of a threat to it.