An Artist's Quest

Betwixt and Between

Here we are again betwixt and between, neither here nor there, I’m talking about standing in the thin place between spring and summer.  The capricious disposition of spring still prevails sending tufts of willow and dogwood floating in the afternoon sun like fairy moats dancing to the winds whimsy.  But the unerring tilt towards summer can be read in the green grasses now dipping their tips in the golden paint of a California summer.  Just this weekend I noticed the change, despite the heavy rains of last week, the grasses speak the truth… spring cannot last forever, summer will come.  It is in these thin places that we feel the change most acutely, witness it most accurately.  When we are in full burst, full bloom, full bounty we are too laden with the moment to think it can ever change, but change will come, as it must.  So wherever you are, look for the thin places in your world, be witness to this moment of change and transformation and pause to preserve this green memory before it floats away like the willows on the wind, and turns gold in the inescapable sprint to summer.

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2 responses

  1. Jane

    How timely was your comment once again this week?
    Friday Rebecca graduated with her Master’s in Education. Saturday followed with celebrations with a crowd of twenty somethings, a number of whom we first knew as elementary school students. Sunday we were on our own again – the house was empty. Rebecca has not lived at home for six years, but this was a different empty. I could sense the thinness and the transition. Our daughter and her peers were no longer students. The label ‘student’ had kept the illusion of a child alive in my mind.
    Watching your child grow up can feel like a spinner sat at a spinning wheel. You take a raw material and handle it as firmly and gently as you need to make a strong and beautiful thread. At times it’s not so smooth or quite as you might like but you persevere and keep spinning. As the supply of raw material diminishes the volume of refined yarn grows. As the raw material becomes shorter in supply you keep spinning the thread thinner and thinner to stretch out the process that has continued for so long you cannot imagine life without it. Now the thread is so thin that it is barely visible, but it is very special. I hope that next August the complete spool thread, with all its splendor and imperfections will be a strong and beautiful yarn that enables her and her fiancé to start weaving a beautiful life together.
    For now I plan to enjoy the last few months of this beautiful transition, to enjoy all that has passed and all that might yet be. I pray that I am open to all that this thin place wishes to reveal to me. In this thin place I feel both stronger and more vulnerable. The anticipation of the completion of the transition is exciting and exhilarating; the unknown of what is yet to come is scary and bewildering. In these thin places we have the opportunity to see, feel, hear, taste and smell everything, both natural and supernatural, more intensely. For me thin places are where God and I have the most intimate and honest conversations.

    May 23, 2011 at 10:21 pm

    • Jane this is lovely imagery, of parent as spinner, the thread thinning between ones fingers, imperfections and beauty all in one. I am going to encourage my readers to look back at your comment, it gave me tingles as I read it. While my pile of parental wool is still in a pile next to my chair I can see the raw material is less than the thread on the spool. Soon my sweet lad will that up his own spinning and make of the raw materials what he will. Rebecca is lucky to have such an artisan as you and Nigel tugging at her heart threads all these years. I look forward to learning how she take the thread to weave into her own cloth and how the warp and weft of your own life changes in color and tensile with the passage of time. Thank you for sharing you wonderful metaphor. Lisa

      May 24, 2011 at 8:52 am

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