We’re right on the edge. Spring has come so close.
Snow, when it falls, melts quickly now. Thermometers now read forty, even fifty degrees at mid-day. Morning bird song, though sparse, is unmistakable now. Sharp green shoots will break through the cold but thawing ground any day now. Pale, red buds will begin dotting branches any day now. Spring has come so close and so many of us are ready, on the edge, poised, anticipating, expecting, crouching as if ready to leap, ready to burst forth, ready to bid farewell to our winter tombs, ready for resurrection, ready for rebirth, ready for warm April sun on our backs, ready for dirty hands planting seeds in the dark, brown earth.
But right now, today, before the sun rises to that half-way point between solstices, we wait. Just a bit longer. We wait in this edge time, this time between seasons, this time like the space between breaths, this time like the space between notes in a melody. This edge time is akin to the space where the earth’s plates meet—a bit unstable and insecure, potentially bumpy and chaotic. It is akin to the space where the ocean meets the shore—a space of immense creativity and diversity, a space teeming with life.
Edge times are potent times, pregnant, full of unspent energy, even explosive. Edge times are creative times, moments when all the scattered pieces of our lives begin coming together once again, begin taking shape, begin dancing, spiraling into new forms, new patterns, new ways of being.
In this edge time between winter and spring—and in all the edge times of our lives—though we come to them often feeling tired, groggy, sore; though we come to them often with our bodies and our spirits dragging; may we know the wisdom of pausing one last time, of waiting patiently with the old season before the new one begins, of breathing deeply even as we prepare to leap, of breathing deeply even as we prepare to rise from winter, of breathing deeply and discerning the gifts this moment has to offer: the opportunity to see what has been and what is coming; the opportunity to gather up the pieces of our lives into a new, coherent whole; the opportunity to begin bringing our new spring selves into the light of the returning sun.
Amen and blessed be.