The Space of Neither Here Nor There
Berries are orange bright on the rowan tree; its leaves turn yellow, wave good-bye as they drift down. Dusky purple grapes hide among the vine’s large leaves. Rustles of wind toss maple leaves in a dancing whirl to the grass, grass which hasn’t needed mowing for weeks. Trees and shrubs and vines begin to undress.
Hornets buzz and tap insistent against the side of my wine glass, frustrated because it has a lid. I hear the thrum of hummingbirds chasing one another, an erratic race to flowers or to the sugar-water in the feeders.
The season is neither here nor there; a liminal space between the last soft scented days of summer and the colourful crisp cool of fall. Now, dawn and dusk serve up the same chill, calling for sweaters. These end-days of August open the gates for autumn, show the path, invite.
Neither here nor there; the days are tender sweet, so warm even the breeze buffets skin like a lover’s caress, under skies the shade of a blue jay’s wing.
Some keep busy. Neighbours scrape, paint, weed, water and mow. Squirrels gather seeds, berries and yes, my grapes.
Some are busy, but not me.
I sit in the swing and write, breathing summer in this space of neither here nor there, in this space of right now. And yet…yet there is a scent of fall. I sit and savour this mellow time of “in between.” It feels too good, to be wasted on doing. I allow myself to be.
For me, for today, neither here nor there is the very best place...to simply be.
The photo and words are mine, copyright © Carol Steel.