Apricity; the warmth of sun during winter. A gorgeous feeling that arrives without asking. Just simply notice it. The way the light touches you feels like permission, to feel more, to be more, to spill beyond the edges we’ve drawn around ourselves. And the world, reciprocal, leans in. Sunlight dances through overhanging trees. Strangers soften. Even the air, music, passing laughter seems to hum with a giddiness that connection is not rare at all, but constant. So, look. Join in.

It’s ridiculous, really, this brightness, this swelling insistence that something is happening. I carry it everywhere, this overzealous crush, this tender excess of noticing. I let the feeling bloom too large, too warm, too much. It reaches past you, past me, into everything. Because ‘apricity’ was never meant to be held, it was always meant to be shared. A radiant yes between all things.

It is almost comical, how much there is to feel. As if the world, orbiting and evolving and offering, as it always has, is amused when we finally notice. Every moment seems to say, here, here, here you are, and here is everything else, and look how it meets you.

Flirting with life softens us. Not the sharp ache of desire, but the expansive, buoyant certainty that I am already inside what I was reaching for. That connection is not something to chase, but something to keep stepping into, again and again, exploring the woven intricacies of interconnectedness.

The world can feel angry, fractured and heavy with all that goes unmet. We feel it pressing into our sides, unkind and unyielding. But, perhaps for the sake of hope, we notice soft, insistent moments. Kindness offered without spectacle. A moment of warmth that refuses to be extinguished. Embrace that lingers long after. In these moments, the world exhales, and even the iciest days carry a promise of a returning glow.

I have Two of Cups tattooed on my arm, a card in Tarot. A symbol of connection. A reminder that when joy is shared, it doubles; when sadness is shared, it halves. A familiar subtle shift when something inside us is witnessed, suddenly we are less alone in carrying it. The willingness to be moved, to be altered, to let the world in despite its tempers. To keep choosing connection, even when it feels fragile, even when it feels foolish. Because we cannot be in solitude, we are made to meet each other here. To see, and to be seen, is to soften the world, even for a moment. And sometimes, that is everything.