In between

About six weeks ago I started to write a poem. The week had started with a couple of days where I had stayed at work late and found myself cycling home as dusk was falling. I remember noticing the amazing quality of the light and sound of birdsong around me... but it was cold, as February often is, and as the lights in the surrounding houses turned on one by one, I found myself choosing to rush home to my own electric brightness rather than stop and fully take in the natural light and birdsong.

However, on the Friday evening I found myself walking the dog at dusk around the lake in our local park, and I became aware of some bats that were flying from tree to tree. This time I stopped, and I watched the bats for some time. It was magical, and I began to think about the wealth of life that we overlook by rushing from one thing to another and not appreciating the in between spaces in our lives.

Ironically I didn't finish writing my poem in February as I was too busy rushing about from one thing to another.

But today, I found space and decided to finish writing the poem.

The world is a totally different place today compared to six weeks ago. The words I wrote back then seem to have a different meaning now, in the middle of the COVID19 lockdown. But I wonder if maybe they were always meant for now.

In between my waking and my sleeping
the day lies open
offering me everything or nothing;
a wealth of possibilities,
and a gaping void.

In between daylight and dark
dusk falls.
Through the gathering gloom
I journey homeward;
flickering lights
call me to safety.

But in the darkness
I pause.
And recognise the invitation
to step
into this unknown,
this in between space.

In between activity and stillness,
there is a different life.
In between the traffic roar and silence,
birds sing a twilight melody.
In between sight and blindness,
bats dance with freedom.

In between my waking and my sleeping
I pause,
recognise the invitation
to embrace
this different life,
this in between space.