Horoscopes for The Leo 2022

Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.

  • 1st Jailer in Shakespeare’s Cymbeline 5.4.160

The Sun moves into the Tropical Zodiac Sign of The Leo on July 22, 2022 at 3:07 PM (local).

  • Jupiter goes retrograde July 28.
  • New Moon 6° Leo July 28.
  • Mercury moves into Virgo August 4.
  • Venus moves into Leo August 12.
  • Full Moon 19° Leo/Aquarius August 13.
  • Mars moves into Gemini August 20

The Sun moves into Virgo August 22.

Horoscopes for Leo 2022

The Leo

The Leo One of the old neighbors. Think this was a few houses back, but one of my neighbors, then? He kept a couple of extra traffic cones in the back of his truck. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to discover that he “borrowed” those cones from a construction site, or city project, something like that, no wouldn’t surprise me at all. But he kept those cones handy as they served a purpose. When he would park in his space, and he had an overnight guest? He would put the cones up forcing her to park in a visitor spot, and I think that carried some message. The last time I had an internet connection problem, the cable crew pulled into the driveway, and they set up those orange traffic cones at the edge of the driveway, but not in the street. Sort of the same kind of message, I guess. Or not. This month has some tricky negotiations for the birthday Leo. The majestic Leo has some traffic directions to exercise. I think those traffic cones, just carry a spare set in the trunk, the back of the truck, wherever, I just think a spare set of those would help The Leo in the following days. It’s one thing to assert a position, but it’s a lot better if you can actually mark your space. Again, amusing for me, but makes perfect sense for The Leo — a simple set of traffic cones can “mark your space” so no one interferes.


Coastal fishing — inshore fishing? Along the Gulf Coast for me, easiest way to explain this. The breeze, the typical offshore breeze comes in from the north, north-east, and seems to blow sort of sideways. The inter coastal waters are narrow rivulets of channels, troughs, sloughs, and other meandering waterways. Tide comes in, tide goes out, but the tide onshore, and the tide along the back bays and other waterways? While similar, it can be different. It is an ever-shifting landscape, I tend to favor locals with flat-bottomed boats for navigating the skinny waters. Good fun, in the height of the summer and active hurricane season, but still, good fun, in a skilled set of hands. What my Virgo friends are looking for? A skilled set of hands to help navigate the tricky shoals. When “Reds” are feeding in the shallows, the spotted tail sticks up in the air while the fish themselves root around in the muck for shrimp, mud minnows, and small crabs. So Virgo is trying to navigate, with a wind that shifts one way, and tide pulling the other way, all the while, watching the spotted tails poking up in the bay’s soft surface. What worked best? I would suggest, just let the boat drift and work from that as a moving platform. Wind pushes us one way, and it’s a little harder then a little easier, to cast. A few minutes later, the tide shifts and we’re getting pulled in a different direction, and when that happens? Just drift with it as long as it doesn’t push into the shore. Even then? With the tide coming in? The bay will fill up and we’ll drift free. Instead of constantly battling the elements?


While this won’t apply across the board to all Libra persons, as a reminder? In the next few weeks? “Snap the lid on it.” Years and years ago, a buddy’s kid found a brand-name, insulated, thermos-like drink-holder (Yeti knock-off), and she made her daddy buy it for me. I used it for my commute to Austin, off and on, and what I discovered? If the plastic lid is on, and properly sealed, it has a little drinking slot, not really an issue, but the lid is snapped into place? Hot coffee stays almost blistering hot for up to six hours. That’s all the way to Austin, and halfway through a shift for me. However, if I just filled the cup and left with no lid snapped in place? That hot coffee would be lukewarm by South Austin, and room-temperature by the rock shop. As a reminder, this process works if all the parts are in place. The Libra near-future works out if all the protocols are followed. Read the individual instructions. Following the proscribed protocols. Make sure the lid is snapped into place, and that beverage stays hot, or cold, whatever, as advertised. Might have to extrapolate this message and apply as need be to whatever it is that is happening — individually and collectively — with Libra, but the message is eerily similar to, “Make sure the lid is properly affixed,” although, your mileage might vary.


One fishing buddy, hey bubba, one fishing buddy used to admonish that watching a fishing show on TV wasn’t nearly a such fun as participation. I would agree, but we can’t all fish every day. The problem with the fishing shows? It’s a star fishing guy and a camera person, in a boat, and watch where the sun is. They launch before sunrise, and then, around noon, it’s that “first cast,” and it hooks up a fish. There are three-four hours of missing time when the star is cussing, messing with tackle and baits, basically? Making all the mistake that never make it onto the show. Two, maybe three days of taping result in a half hour show of cast, catch. Cast, catch, repeat. It’s the long hours in between action that is important for my Scorpio friends, as that’s where the real action is. With the troubling materials on all fronts, Sun in Leo, and Saturn in Aquarius, &c.? That spells out the long hours between the apparent Scorpio succeses. That’s what is required, what happens when the camera is rolling but the material isn’t even suitable for background, ambience, or any other useful positioning. There’s a kind of boredom or impatience that sets into Scorpio, and what I’m suggesting? This is like those three days to five days used to get maybe twenty minutes of useful footage for the Scorpio show. It’s not a waste of time, it just all takes a lot longer than you planned. All I do is try and warn you about that added delay.


Leo Season translates to “fishing” for me. Simple as that. Towards that end, I was angling alongside a local lake. More like an early summer’s morn, before the searing Central Texas heat created that oven-like atmosphere. I had a few moments just as dawn was creeping into the day, just me, fishing pole, the rocky edge of a reservoir, and some fish. Pictures on the site someplace, I hope. So far, so good. By the time the sun was starting to crawl into the sky, though, a few may flies seemed out, and if I was fly-fishing, I would have tied on some of those, but as the sun was starting to creep up into the sky, remember, this is summer in Texas, I noticed that the boat traffic on the lake had created waves, and the waves had washed up on the rocky shoreline, and the occasional moss was slippery in places. Not everywhere, just some places. Thinking to myself, “I need to be extra careful,” there was a familiar tug on the line, pole bent over, and I was reeling in another lakeside wonder, certainly not a keeper, but a sufficiently interesting enough fish to get a picture and release back. As I stepped closer to the shore, I felt the slippery moss under my left heel, and I knew I was going down. I did a quick two-step, three-step dance to try and regain posture and poise, only to sit on my butt, hard and fast. Pole still in hand, fish still on. I didn’t hear anything snap, crackle, or pop, so I figured I was okay except for mud on butt. Fish in, got a picture, set her free, then stopped to assess my damage. Dirty, and that shoreline moss, smells like dead fish, and other more vile odors. But I was okay, and the gear was okay, and my cartoon dance was marginally successful since I didn’t hurt or break anything. Moving forward into this Leo fishing season for Sagittarius? Exercise more caution than usual. Wear sunscreen. Maybe find a buddy with boat instead of just walking the shoreline, but that morning? It sure was fun.


My various faiths can change with the time of the day. With respects to beliefs, religions, and the odd gods of the galaxies, I’m pretty much all over the place. I tend to shy away from strict, structuralist systems with rigid rules, but again, that might be me. Pluto is poking along at a late degree of Capricorn while Neptune is at a similar late degree of Pisces. Made me think, “Let’s get spiritual,” and then I hear a cacophony of voices, some arguing angrily for a certain brand of faith while others vehemently arguing any kind of branding at all. The shouting, these voices in my head, they run from, “There is NO god!” to a “god is everything!” I’m all for diversity, but seriously? We can agree that it is a personal choice, and there should be a bit of latitude in discussion. Raised in Texas, like I was, the religion question is hot-button line-item I stay away from, and yet, here I am, in the midst of a hot Capricorn summer, wading into the question. This is a question I can’t address individually. This is a question I can’t cover in a scant few paragraphs. This is a question that is forefront on the Capricorn mind. Couple of guidelines: time and place. There’s a time to discuss this topic. Careful with picking the best time for yourself. Then there’s place, this subject can successfully be broached in certain venues. Finally, there’s the topic itself, and there tends to be some strong, emotional ties to the outcome of the discussion. As a notice, as a way to look at the next few weeks? When this comes up, the topic in its various guises? Pause long enough to ascertain that you’re in the right place to talk about that particular subject. Consider, too, if the audience right, or is this open-mind meets closed-mind scenario, with no way to win?

Capricorn: read the room, in the very least.


Toiling in obscurity? Fixing material goods with the assistance of others? Those are two thematic elements, and look: the Sun is in Leo. You know how I toady up to Leo, right? Let’s call each Leo, “The Leo?” Over the years, this has proven to be an excellent survival skill for myself. If — when — you encounter that magnificent, royal, Leo energy in the next few weeks? “Oh, yeah, my astrology buddy Kramer suggests you’re not ‘a Leo’ but ‘The Leo,’ sounds about right?” In doing so, this paves the way for boons to be given, wishes granted, and the magnificent Leo will lend their might and power in assisting a lowly Aquarius in rectifying a situation. Fixing stuff that’s broken. Leo makes an impressive partner. The attitude to adapt towards that Leo? Think of being subservient during most of August. “I am here but to serve you, m’lord.” A combination of a caper and curtsy works well, slightly theatrical, and while your Aquarius head appears pointed down, eyes averted, you care easily looking up at the people, at least glancing upwards to see if they are acknowledging your Aquarius genuflection. Works wonders. Open the door, bow low and extend an arm, “After you, your Highness, (majesty, Royal Pain in the Arse), whatever…” Okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the idea? Curtsy. Bow, even if it is a stage bow, or, in my mind, the simple act of pressing palms together, just above the heart chakra, and inclining the forehead, a really simple gesture, I tend to borrow from the Buddhist Monks. Whatever that is? Toiling in obscurity and fixing stuff other people broke, with assistance from other signs? That’s what works. Many thanks.


The mind is a powerful tool. Use it wisely? I was looking at a recipe for French toast, then I thought about my own version, I tend to favor what I was told was “Duck Bread.” Used to feed it to the ducks, as a child, a week, or more, old bread, just shy of having mold growing on its surface, but not by much. In Austin, I used “duck bread” to attract catfish and their ilk, as dough balls served as a good form of chum. Cheap, and the wildlife along the shores of the lake seemed to like it. To me, the best “French Toast” is made with that stale duck bread. I prefer, when possible, the Texas Toast sized bread, and then, soaked in a sweet batter, fried in butter, dusted with powdered sugar, soaked with melted butter, and then? The crowing touch? Drenched in syrup. A cook book, I looked at had this “Delicious and nutritious” version, with an accompanying picture, much like I described, sweet batter, fried in butter, a pat of melted butter on top, then sprinkled with confectioner sugar, and finally, soaked in sugary syrup. Think the recipe called for “Pure Maple syrup,” so, you know, it was healthy. In the image itself, not on the list of recipe items, there were two raspberries, and three, maybe four, blueberries. I really got to call one’s attention to the facts, the addition of a few berries doesn’t make this a health meal. Tasty? Yes. Enough sugar to induce a diabetic coma? That, too. Healthy? Just the image alone, the hint of plump, ripe berries, alongside that stale Texas Toast White Bread, covered in a batter that is egg, heavy cream, sugar, and some vanilla? I’m a little suspect. There are two ways this shows up in the next month for gentle Pisces. In part, the image is alluring, as is the teaser, “A healthier French Toast, Texas-style.” Sure, sounds good. But the other part, examine what’s really there. Ever read the ingredients on that white bread? Notice even mold doesn’t grow there? Makes one wonder how healthy this might really be. Pisces normally has sound judgement, but this is a timeframe to be wary of just going with what headlines and images portray.


I got myself down to a much simpler way to approach so much of what is going on. I simplified my every-day material that I carry. I like having a tarot deck with me, more as a keepsake than any kind of professional use, but I do tend to carry a small deck that I’m familiar with. Then, too, I like having chargers, small, compact, but chargers for both a tablet and a phone. Finally, notepad, paper, pen, pencil. For years, I was hyper-vigilant about always carrying a book. Had to have something to read, and I used to tote a beat-up copy of Marcus Aurelius Meditations, but that has all be been supplanted by a tablet. There are a few trinkets that I carry, as well, good luck pieces. For years, I carried a chip from a long-gone gambling boat that sailed from Port Aransas. I’m not sure why I carried the chip, other than a lucky keepsake. On half-dozen trips, I only won big twice. Not good numbers, from a business perspective, but I can suggest it was merely the follies of youth. Still, I toted that around for years. Another keepsake I still carry? It’s a cross from a rosary, given to me by a client, allegedly blessed by the pope. The Pope. Periodically, I have to go through my crap, my stuff, my junk that I accumulate, and clean it all out. There was a package of beef jerky in the bottom of one bag, when I did this, and I don’t know how long that’s been there. Last time I fished? Maybe last year? I tested the stuff, visual then tasted, seemed good enough, left it in the bag for the next trip. What this is about? Stop. Pause. Look. Examine. The easiest Aries metaphor? Dump out your purse, man-bag, “murse,” backpack, or briefcase. Dump it all out and make sure you’ve 1) got what you need, and 2) get rid of excess crap that no longer needed. We got a — essentially — a month with Mars in Taurus, and that suggests a good time to clean Aries house, in one format, or another.


Two notions pop up for Taurus. One is that sense of abandon, like a little voice in the back of your head, “Screw it, we’re going to have fun, and not worry about any consequences of our actions!” Like a sine wave, though, or a graphing monitor, there’s a second wave that shoots through, similar, but also with a voice of caution. The second notion? “I know this is a bad idea, but damn, what fun it would be; let’s go! You in?” I’m too old, and too cautious to care, so I’m not in. But you’ll find, that infections Taurus enthusiasm goads others into joining you in that bad idea. Looks like fun. The twin notions, “Bad idea, let’s do it,” with its companion, “looks like fun, even if it’s not wise!” Mars is the culprit, and as he etches his way through the Sign of Taurus, he fills the sky with energies, motivations, notions, ideas, and perhaps, ill-conceived plans. Not saying all of the ideas are bad, but this might not be the best time to implement some of those Taurus notions. Good ideas, but maybe not the time to so-enthusiastically embrace the action itself, despite what Mars urges.


Mars spends the duration in Taurus, look, right above this entry, there’s the stuff for Taurus — hint? Gemini hint? Taurus precedes Gemini. For the next few days, weeks, even, Mars in Taurus is going to create tension and frustration in Gemini. This is made worse by the sun being in Leo, which creates tension for that Mars. This will push dreams up from the Gemini subconscious. This will add fear to those dreams. This will scare the heck out of you, before this month of weird material is done. Is it bad? Hardly. It’s a function of the Gemini psyche purging itself of bad ideas. To get rid of the bad ideas that you’ve successfully repressed over the last year, years, even a lifetime? Stop, “repressed” is the wrong phrasing. Stuff you’ve internationally buried because it was uncomfortable, untoward, or untimely? Something like might leach to the surface of the Gemini cognitive process. Over the course of the summer, I try to remind the Gemini bothers and sisters that this is nothing more than fragments of memories that are gradually surfacing, as a fears and nightmares, and nothing concrete. Then, too, remember these are fragments of memories, and with Mars, where he is, he tends to see the downside, the seamy underbelly, the dirt in the situation rather than all of the information. Just bad stuff, getting leached out of the Gemini garden in the summer sun.


A while back I bought a gadget on the amazon thing. It was useful technological bauble that functioned, I bought the cheapest one I could find, and it functioned for a matter of weeks. Served its purpose; fulfilled its promises; performed its tasks as necessary. Then it died. Didn’t “die,” die, it sort of quit responding to wireless commands. The wired version still worked, but the wireless access — the original point of the device in the first place — the wireless ceased to function. I fussed with it, reset it, toyed with the controls, played with the software, and then? I threw the damn thing away. This next few weeks, in the Moon Children, Cancer slice of the heavens? Consider that action I took. I thought about holding onto it, as a I do have a container filled with abandoned, out-dated technology, but everything in there still works, if I charge the various batteries. I messed with the recent purchase long enough to determine that it was dead, no longer a serviceable unit, and I wasn’t going to get anymore use out of it, not for its intended purpose, and holding onto it? Damn thing would take up space, and then, I would spend hours tinkering with it, trying to get it to work again, only to have that lead to my own consternation and eventually frustration. Easiest course of action? Dumpster. I thought about it, and the device was dead, as in no longer usable. Tossing it was the safest, most expedient route, and then? That way? I can’t waste hours of precious time trying to coax into working again. Besides, do I really need one that does that? Safest course of action? Best route? If it doesn’t work, and you don’t need it any longer?

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About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.

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