This is the lesson, isn’t it? The plum blossoms took a chance on love, on beauty, on co-creation. They opened up to the sun, to the bees, to the wonder of passers by.

Sometimes things don’t go as planned. Often, the wonder begins when something breaks. What we build in its place reflects a better picture of our new, expanded self. A better picture of our network. Often, our rebuild is a more comprehensive picture of Love.

The Mother Tree did not tip to the ground with a majestic uprooting. Her massive trunk snapped in two places at ground level, the hollow cave of her belly falling open to the sun.

He taught me patience and generosity. He showed me how the flow of giving and receiving could take your breath away, like a waterfall. Even in hard times. He helped to ground me, and I had the pleasure of helping uplift him.

I arranged them in the skillet, soft-frozen, I felt the bounty of summer at my fingertips. It is a bright reminder that our loving investment today can nourish us and the world tomorrow.

This uplifting emotion, more creative ideas flow, then more nourishing emotions. The key is to feel all the best feels without attachment to outcome.

Don’t we sometimes do the same? Fight, flight, fawn, or freeze … survival mode can make us more brittle than we’d think. I have been working long hours lately as I update the Core Alignment with Joy series.

It might seem like too many hands, minds, and hearts for such delicate work, but I assure you it’s not. When we give and receive feedback, when we set forth with the courage to co-create, we do so vulnerably. And in that tender meeting, the best of us comes forward with exponential benefits.

Isn’t it fascinating how tracks are more than just footprints? They show a way of walking, a way of being in the world. And they go somewhere.

We sat beside one another and were transported together to a planet orbited by two moons. This is family magic. This is the magic of creation. This is worklove, and the finest gift I’ve ever received.

December is kind to offer sunrise after six a.m. A desert sunrise with my family nearby? It nearly sent me over the top. What greater gift than this?

The power of play is that all beings engage equally, all beings are co-creative. That’s good practice for life. When we let go of our identities, we find safety and joy in new ways, together. My heart sings at the opportunity.

There’s candlelight. A single flame in so much darkness seems all the more powerful and bright. We are like that too, you know. The brilliant love of one person can light up a room.

I can finally appreciate Christmas, too, with a happier heart. For countless generations, my family has celebrated Christmas with food and fun.

That riot of December beauty, contrast, and sweetness happening beyond my circle of embrace? It reminds me of the number of things I have not yet discovered. The world is full of so much splendor that we cannot possibly cross paths with all of it in one lifetime.

Our choice continues to make sense financially. In a world where it’s getting easier to consciously uncouple and harder to afford a home, I wouldn’t be surprised to see more folks choosing this path.

The lesson is not lost on me. We are designed to nourish ourselves first. We succeed together, no doubt. My path is interconnected with yours the way that the roots of trees share information and nourishment, protecting the forest.

I put my hand on my heart. “As I say this, I’m fully attending to these qualities in their wholeness. My heart is filling with warmth, softening. I feel a sense of aliveness. The vegetables are still there, but now when I look at them, I feel less of a demand to make soup.

Pictured above is my desk quince. If you’ve been on the other side of my Zoom screen for classes or coaching in the past month, you may have seen me palm this fruit to smell it. That’s honestly my favorite thing to do with quince.

Half Moon had passed some weeks before of an ailment exceedingly rare and unexpected. She had died while being treated at Oregon State University, a whole county away, and many of her friends in the barn still appeared to await her return.