A window sits cracked at your side, and one elbow is all it takes to let more light spill across the floor. Jupiter, the lift that widens the view and trusts the road, offers a clean angle to the rising horizon in your chart, the way you turn up in each room. The sash will not slide on its own. You have to choose it, reach for the gap as it shows. When you do, your way of appearing turns roomier, quicker to bet on the stranger walking in. The largeness waits like a fresh draught already crossing the sill, asking only that you shove the window that little bit wider.