Before the Brumby Runs

Before the Brumby Runs

Thoughts on the Coming Fire Horse Year

There are years that arrive politely.
And there are years that arrive already moving.

The Year of the Fire Horse is not a year that waits for readiness. It doesn’t ease people in. It doesn’t soften its edges for comfort. Fire Horse energy is acceleration with memory — momentum that carries both freedom and consequence.

That doesn’t mean it’s catastrophic.
It means it’s revealing.

Fire Horse years expose where we are already upright — and where we’ve been compensating without realising it.

Speed is not the danger.

Loss of footing is.

Much of the anxiety I’m seeing about the coming year is rooted in a familiar fear: What if I can’t keep up? But the Fire Horse isn’t interested in who can run fastest. It responds to balance, clarity, and direction.

In fast years, vague people get dragged — not because they’re wrong, but because they haven’t chosen where they’re facing.

The Fire Horse doesn’t ask, What do you want?
It asks, Where are you standing when this begins?

The end of the Snake is not dramatic — it’s biological

The Wood Snake year has been a long shedding. Not cinematic. Not decisive. Often uncomfortable in ways that are hard to explain. Snake years rarely provide clean endings; they loosen skins until staying becomes impossible.

If you feel:

• quietly done with something you can’t quite name

• uninterested in arguments you used to fight

• tired of managing what should already know how to hold itself

That’s not disengagement.
That’s a shed nearing completion.

The mistake people make at the end of a Snake year is trying to force closure — forcing decisions, clarity, forgiveness, or meaning. But shedding doesn’t require decision-making. It requires patience and honesty.

The skin will come away when it’s ready.

Fire Horse years punish urgency masquerading as clarity

One of the great traps of Fire Horse energy is mistaking speed for truth.

Everything feels louder. Faster. More immediate. Other people’s crises can feel contagious. The temptation is to over-communicate, over-explain, over-act — to prove you’re “on top of things.”

But Fire Horse years reward restraint.

They favour those who can:

• respond without reacting

• decline urgency they didn’t create

• let other people have their own momentum

Witnessing is not disengagement.
Distance is not cruelty.
Silence is not avoidance.

Sometimes the most skilful thing you can do is watch — popcorn in hand — while others learn what it feels like to be dragged.

This is not a year for reinvention.

It’s a year for orientation.

Despite what the internet will tell you, Fire Horse years are not ideal for becoming someone else. They are ideal for becoming more exact.

Orientation matters more than intention.

You don’t need a five-year plan.
You need to know where you’re facing when the acceleration begins.

Because once the brumby runs, you don’t get to renegotiate your stance mid-stride. If you are prepared enough you might even find yourself atop a mountain as the year of the Fire Goat begins to unfold — a vantage point you didn’t expect to reach.

A quiet invitation

I’m not interested in fear-based forecasts or breathless predictions. What I’m interested in is helping people enter this year upright — steady, resourced, and clear.

There is nothing you need to force before the Fire Horse arrives.
There is something you may need to release.
And there is something you may need to stop pretending is undecided or to prepare yourself for.

The Fire Horse doesn’t wait.
But it does reward those who choose their footing early.

Before the brumby runs,
ask yourself gently:

Am I watching with popcorn — or reaching for bandages?

The Blue Blazer

A Fire Horse drink, whether it knows it or not

Page 172 of The Cocktail Diaries

There are cocktails you sip.
And there are cocktails you handle.

The Blue Blazer has always belonged to the second category.

It isn’t decorative. It isn’t gentle. It involves flame, precision, and a steady hand — and if you rush it, you’ll know immediately. It’s one of those old drinks that doesn’t tolerate bravado. You either respect the process, or you get burned.

Which feels… appropriate.

Fire Horse years don’t reward recklessness dressed up as confidence. They reward skill under pressure. The ability to work with heat without flinching. To move decisively, but not carelessly.

The Blue Blazer — with its controlled fire and deliberate transfer — reminds me that some things are meant to be approached awake. Not numbed. Not aestheticised. Not rushed.

You don’t make it on autopilot.
You don’t make it to impress.
You make it because you know when to step closer to the flame — and when to step back.

That’s Fire Horse energy at its most honest.

Not chaos.
Not spectacle.
But heat, handled well.

And if I am being honest - I think I've poured one or two of those Flaming Sambuca shots for over zealous young men too Sam! Though I recall most of them asked for a Slippery Nipple rather than the Flaming Sambuca - I'm not that keen on the taste of Sambuca but the Baileys made it bearable as a layered shot.