I linger in life’s in-between spaces — the thresholds where we’re always becoming. The prairie keeps me curious, humor keeps me human, and writing keeps me grounded.
All the buried seeds crack open in the dark, the instant they surrender to a process they can’t see. — mark nepo I am attentive to the seeds in my garden. Drawn to them. Searching for them. Collecting them. Scattering them where I hope they might take root next spring.
Have you started to notice the shift? I wake at the same time I have for months, but lately darkness is sleeping in. When I open the door to let the dogs out, there are bottom notes in the air — coolness, melancholy, and the faintest scent of endings. Autumn is
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there. — Rumi Welcome to the meadow between. This is a space for slowing down, for dwelling in the thresholds of life — those liminal places between what has been and what is yet to come. Like