Friday, September 18, 2009

CAT DANCING AT THE LIMINAL



There’s a certain time of the morning which has no specific name.

It’s the time before the sun has peeked between the clouds, but after the darkness of the night. It’s not yet dawn. To call it pre-dawn would diminish the intensity of the feeling, as if it’s a false start. This moment in time stands on its own, silent yet powerful.

The air is hazy, no matter what the season, be it winter or summer. The feeling of throwing off blankets while still half asleep surrounds me, precious seconds of quiet and calm. Its counterpart has to be the same as twilight is for sunset.

It’s the time before the rooster crows, the time before the rest of the world has turned off the alarm to get up and go, do what needs to be done, before heading back home again, to watch the sunset. There's a fairyland atmosphere, a sense of wonderment and awe before the brightness of the sun has shown it's true face.

It’s the time when walks are taken, to smell the crisp of the leaves not yet fallen to the ground, the waves pounding on the shore. The air is electric with an oncoming storm, causing the wind to blow between the branches like a carnival pipe organ, resting on one note before it moves on to another. Branches slap against the sides of barns and houses, as if they know their place in this symphony of sounds. The orchestra of the Lake is magnificent.

The barn cats sing their own good morning song as they meow for their mother, or saying hello to the passers by. For now I can only call it Cat Morning, for I haven’t a clue what it’s called. But I know it’s by far my favorite time of the day.

There has to be a name to this time in the morning. Someone once said to me it could perhaps be called the liminal, the state of in-between. I don’t know if its accurate, but it seems fitting.

May our eyes open again tomorrow to view the miraculous liminal. The tangible example of peace.

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