On the Threshold of Becoming

Dear Diary,

It is "advent" at the pond...the season of waiting. The glorious colors of autumn are past and the serene beauty of winter has not come yet. It is that "in between" time. Along the southerly edge of the pond, in the shadow areas, the ice is starting to form. Some of it is opaque and full of bubbles while some is crystal clear allowing me to see the suspended and frozen leaves.

I love borderlands...places where two kinds of reality touch. This photograph is of just such a place. It is where the frozen touches the liquid...where winter touches autumn. These places on the edge are special places.

Slowly but surely the ice will make it's way across the pond and hold the top few inches in a kind of suspended animation until the Spring thaw but beneath life goes on unseen. This is the time of quiet waiting, when we listen for the soft and padded footsteps of the approaching winter. It is a time for practicing patience.

For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.

T. S. Eliot