The Space Between the Light and Dark

I’m sure I’m not the only person throughout this whole thing whose sleep has been affected. I may not be fully aware of any sense of anxiety as such but it’s as if my body is living in a whole new world – without me. A discombobulated kind of dissonance.

It pings me awake at sunrise as if to quench some kind of thirst. It carries me upstairs to my window where I commune with the unfolding beauty of the break of day. I find myself wishing to fully immerse in nature and seek solace in the familiarity of its edges. Convincing the edges in myself that I won’t fall through. That I will move through instead.

I’ve been fascinated by the space between the light and dark. Where things seem so full of potential. As I gaze through my window in Cornwall or meander on local paths I feel at times so alone. Nature strips me back like being without leaves, urging me to shed my own brave faced bark.

I might then cry and go on to find myself moved beyond measure by the bees or my pink clematis finally coming into bloom. Somehow finding faith that the darkest moment before dawn will also draw me in with its promise that things will change.

And then the gentle breeze of nature’s caress invites my surrender to let it be – and know that all will be well ?

Debbie Geraghty is a passionate advocate for creativity and equality. An introduction to her activities is available here.

By Debbie Geraghty

Hailing from Scotland and now living in Cornwall, UK. A window gazing lover of river and clouds. A visual storyteller and wondering wanderer who tries to live deeply - but lightly.

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