Pathways, Portals, and Perception
A bright blue sky,
warmth that promises
spring is near.
This is
time between times,
time of transition,
time of awaiting,
time of hope,
time of dread,
time of wonder.
A frog calls.
A bird sings.
Witch hazel blossoms, bright and cheerful, smell intoxicatingly like spring.
First stalks of rhubarb push upwards, wearing hats of last year’s leaves.
Evil buttercup hoards prepare for their yearly invasion.
I look for things that root me in the now.
What can I see that I can only see NOW?
The nest in the salmonberry?
The trails through the shrubs?
The spaces between.
From the top of a rock,
from the branches of a tree,
liminal spaces invite.
I lift logs, sodden with winter’s wet,
to see who is hiding,
waiting.
Burrowing, scurrying, scuttling ensues.
Through brush and ferns,
through fog and mist,
I navigate a vine maple maze,
freeze when I come upon the deer - who also freezes, staring at me,
ears twitching.
Each step on the pathway reminds me
to enjoy the moment.
I’m not just in transition,
I am
HERE.
I am
NOW.
I am
ME.
And I’ll never be quite the same ME again.
I need to be me right now,
in this season,
in this space,
in this moment,
on this pathway.
I stand within the moment of change
called to explore the portals
magical and inviting,
a space between trees,
a ferny fairy forest,
a cave made by an old tree stump…
… all dare me to enter, to find out what is beyond.
These pathways and portals invite
transportation,
transformation,
transition.
Where do I want to go?
Who do I want to become?
What do I want to do?
They invite me to wonder what can become true, if I shed fear.
What will happen if I enter the portal?
February brings transition,
waiting,
between,
also THIS moment.
This moment of red flowering currant.
This moment of first osoberry leaves.
This moment of a raven calling
and a flock of chickadees fluttering.
THIS moment.
Summer plans loom and I long for the wild, rocky beach.
I long for sweet sunshine.
I long to kayak, to hike, to swim.
Here I am in this waiting space,
this wondering space,
this worrying space.
The wind chimes jingle,
the treetops rustle.
A new storm blows away the sunshine,
blows away the false spring,
as I pack my snowboard and prepare to adventure through winter a little more.
Summer can wait.
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