Romina Marchetti

Yesterday morning, I sat at my kitchen table, sipping a cup of espresso as the sun cast its warm glow over the rooftops of Florence. The air was crisp, and I could hear the distant hum of the city waking up. Luna, my cat, nestled on my lap, purring softly. I’ve come to cherish these small moments more than ever since I retired two years ago at the age of 65. After working in administration for over forty years, I didn’t know what to expect from retirement. But I found myself missing the camaraderie of my colleagues—the laughter, the daily stories, and even the occasional grumbles about work.

In those days, during our breaks, I would sometimes lay out tarot cards for my coworkers. It was just a bit of fun, something my mother had taught me when I was a girl. After I retired, I decided to offer my readings more widely, and it’s been a surprisingly steady side job. I’m aware some people see it as a bit dubious, but I don’t mind. I know who I am and what I can do. Often, I don’t charge a cent, especially if I sense that someone needs guidance more than I need the money.

A few days ago, a man came to see me. He looked troubled, with shadows under his eyes and a deep furrow between his brows. As we went through the reading, he drew the Death card. His face turned ashen, his hands shook slightly as he placed the card down, and I could see panic flicker in his eyes. I smiled gently and explained, “The Death card doesn’t mean physical death. It’s about transformation—an end making way for a new beginning.” It took some time to help him understand that this wasn’t an omen of doom but a sign that something in his life was ready to change.

By the end of our session, he seemed lighter, a smile slowly forming as he thanked me. I watched him leave, feeling a sense of peace settle over me. Living here in Florence, surrounded by history and beauty, I’ve learned that life is always in flux. This work with the cards isn’t about predicting the future. It’s about helping people find their way, just as I’ve found mine. And for that, I am deeply grateful.

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Kito Uwizeye