Transitions

 

Photo credit here.

Transitional seasons are where I stay – in the not yet, but just gone in between – the border where one is just beyond view whatever direction I look. 

 

It’s a life season – of life seasons – where the bouncy, bubbly of young adulthood borders the feel-it-in-the-morning ache of middle age. It’s just below the surface irritability from hormones that don’t quite work like they did. 

 

It’s crawl out of my skin- or maybe slip out of my skin – sweats and heat that arises in my chest and finds their wet way to the ends of my hair. It’s achy muscles and taunt ligaments sending pulses of pain through my feet and up to my hips sometimes landing in the knuckles of my 3^rd finger and thumb. 

 

And then the moments of breezy forgetfulness. Where I am bouncing in the air, clapping my feet to the ground – making all the noises I can and feeling the flow of music run through my body as if we were one and the same. 

 

I feel it in the joy of laughter over the odd beginnings of my younger self – feeling giddiness over a silly joke or the taste of sunshine that comes through frozen milk, eggs and sugar. I sense the lightness of not needing to be careful while staring down the rolling pin that cradles my arch. 

 

I stride along the horizon’s curve, zigging and zagging between who I have been and who I am yet to be. But I am always, only present to the here, the now. Continuum, breath-by-breath, the constant transition defining us all. 

 

- August 3, 2019, Writing Retreat