If… your festive season comes tinged with a lemon ache of — a unicorn hope that’ll never be, a shining light who’ll be missed at your table, a tribe who dons different stripes than yours, a ten-spiced, home cooked cranberry sauce when a simple, canned condiment is what you long for — (hold fast) This is where the spiral will fling you to the black forest in a blink (notice that?) It’s your heartbeat. speeding up. (do you hear her message?) She hums, “GO! — to your mat, your canvas, your trees — Slow down. take a breath. Allow silence…