There’s a cusp of seasons, with moments when you don’t know what time of year it is. Yesterday was like that. If I closed my eyes, it could have been spring or fall. The air was cool and damp and smelled like earth. There were warm currents moving on the wind that took the chill off. It could have been the warmth of returning spring or a dying summer.
The heavy rains lately have made the waters rise. The rivers are running full and fast. Waterfalls stream from rocks. The sound of water is everywhere. It’s the sound of spring and the sound of fall.
The leaves have fallen. The bare branches could speak of new life barely starting to bud or the deep dormant sleep of coming winter.
There’s wood smoke in the air. The scent could be from fires to take off the spring chill or flames to dry the fall dampness.
I can stand there with eyes closed and imagine it to be whatever time I want it to be.
A time of beginnings or a time of endings. A time to think of new life or a time to remember life that has passed. In this cusp, I’m free to be in either world.
So many of us are in this transition right now, this moment of pause where we stand, maybe slightly confused, maybe in grief, trying to figure out where exactly we are.
Where we have been.
Where we are going.
We stand in the middle of that bridge between, eyes closed, surrounded by rushing water and rising wind, and wait.
Maybe a little lost.
I don’t know if I’m waiting for what has been, or for what is coming.