In that In-Between Space

As the morning dawned, the dewy grass lifted the air into view. Warm meets cold, the nights of fall arising to the mornings of Indian summer.

Today proves to be a bit warmer, and tomorrow too. Just in time for our heat to be working. The new boiler’s off-gassing settles in and around the house, the sunlight carried on tufts of wind from the open window to balance the senses.

I rose early to make school lunches. Balanced meals, a bit of fruit and veg, chips and sandwich, and a treat. I remember my school lunches – bologna sandwich, and I’d put the potato chips between the bread and meat to mix the salty crunch in with the smoothness of the sandwich. Adding texture. Adding taste.

After the lunches were squared away, I made the dough for tonight’s Sabbath challah. The Breadsmith recipe, with vanilla and coconut oil for a smooth, tender, sweet bread. After school, the kids and I will shape them into braids and bake in the oven for steaming loaves to bless as another night sets in.

The grass sparkles every morning now with the thawing from the night. Fingers of diamond-crusted green. The sky is pink on the horizon. The yard is quiet. The house is quiet. The people are quiet. Arising to meet a new day is the best time for pondering what-if, what-has-been, what-will-be.

And so the kids are to school and I am to work and all is routine again. Sunshine delighting the senses. A day filled with learning and inspiration, client meetings, bending in yoga poses. I’ll find a way to do my meditation. Get my daughter a new viola, one that fits her. She’s grown. Make the chicken pot pie for tonight’s dinner and cook the vegetables we haven’t used into something new.

The in-between space between summer and fall, when one season melts into another, when we burrow into sweaters and blankets and each other. That’s what is happening before me. A friend waves from her car window at school drop-off. I wish her a happy birthday. She smiles from recognition. I am glad to give it to her.

We all want to be noticed.

It is a revelatory time of year and I sure hope we can take the time to stop and notice the moments, find the meaning hiding behind the aging trees. Yes, I’ll roast the chicken and cook the carrots for next week’s new year holiday, but will I stop to contemplate all I have done and all I will do, how I can be better, stronger, kinder, in the coming year?

I sure hope so. If not, what’s the point of it all anyway?

Connect with Lynne
Date

Register for The Writers Community