Liminal Blue

A fine blue morning beckons through the windows, and today there is a strong clear sense that liminal realms are close by and waiting patiently just beyond doorway, garden gate and hedgerow. Perhaps that is not surprising, as we stand at the threshold between the seasons, at the gateway between the old Celtic year and that which is to come.

In the past few days, the leaves in both the village and the highlands have been scoured from the trees by freezing gale winds. Driveways are decked out in masses of soggy fallen leaves, the lawns are touched with silver and crunchy underfoot, and the whole landscape is shifting into shades of beige, grey and dusky brown, even as I watch through the window with coffee in hand. Leaves are wondrous things indeed, but when they have fallen, I can see the shapes of the old trees in the garden, and the monotones of the turning landscape are more than compensated for by the brilliant sunshine and that fabulous clear blue sky.

There are cardinals in the hemlocks, chickadees in the spruces and sparrows sequestered in the cedars, but there is not a single feathered friend to be seen today, and there are no visitors (however brief) to the bird feeders which I filled at dawn. Our resident Coopers Hawk has concealed herself in a cranny in the old ash tree and is awaiting the arrival of the first meal of the day.

Out of such small, ordinary and mundane happenings, a life is spun or crafted.

An original Monday haiku sequence is here.