Standing at Summer’s Doorstep

The Season of almost is calling…

The Emotional Breezeway

We’re in one of those beautifully awkward in-between times of the year—when you feel the next season approaching, but it’s not ready to commit. It’s like waking up after a dream and wondering if it happened…or if your mind just made it up. There’s a strange stillness in the air, like standing in an emotional breezeway.

Winter looks like it’s retreating, but cold nights, soggy days, and grey skies remind us that it hasn’t fully let go. Sure, the signs of spring are there, but they’re still flickering.

Soft Earth and Sneaky Temperatures

With its soft, crunchy edges, Mud season has started giving way to a more subtle slipperiness beneath our feet. The buds are beginning to tease us, though we’re holding out for fully leafed-out trees and shade that sways in a summer breeze.

And those sneaky temperatures! A day or two in the mid-60s or low 70s makes a 52-degree day feel like a betrayal. We’re almost there—but not quite.

Still, I can feel summer tapping on my soul’s shoulder.

The Importance of Threshold Moments

These in-between spaces matter.

April and May invite us to stand between two worlds: one fading, one rising. These moments call us to reflect, not to rush ahead but to notice.

“To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.”

George Santayana

There’s wisdom in waiting. There’s clarity in not knowing what’s next, but being willing to stand at the doorway and watch the light shift.

The Quiet Awakening

Boston Common

Even though summer hasn’t arrived, we start to feel better.

There’s a scent in the air, fresh soil, and blooming possibilities. With the added daylight, our moods begin to lighten. There’s an inner warmth returning, coaxed out by the lengthening days. It feels like joy showing up for the early shift.

Just like the trees shed their winter weight, we get a chance to do the same. The heaviness from colder days—emotional or otherwise—can finally be gathered, composted, burned off, or simply let go.

When the Light Flickers

This time of the year is filled with starts and stops.

One day, the windows are flung open; the next, the heat clicks on at dusk. You wash the windows, pull the covers off garden beds, and then…wait. The light stretches daily, but the season doesn’t quite settle in.

“Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.”

Doug Larson

It’s like a loose lightbulb—flickering in the socket until the connection finally steadies.

Don’t we flicker, too?

How many false starts do we make before we lean fully into something?

How often do we pause before doing what we already know is right?

Showing Up Anyway

Some mornings I ask:

Should I write today?

Do I want to play with paint and ink—or should I grab my camera and find a story?

Then again…maybe none of the above. Maybe it’s a day to be.

I’ve said this before in previous posts: nature doesn’t wrestle with self-doubt. She shows up. She doesn’t hesitate, overanalyze, or wait for permission.

“The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

That’s what she teaches us—if we’re paying attention.

You have to show up.

The more you show up, the more you grow.

A packet of seeds left in a kitchen drawer will never sprout.

The Invitation

So what is this moment - this seasonal shift - asking of us?

For me, it’s a chance to stand in the doorway.

To glance back at where I’ve been.

To look forward, not with urgency, but with hope.

It’s a reminder to bring my imagination wherever I go, not on a leash but roaming freely by my side.

How about you?

Can you take this moment to stand still just long enough to breathe, notice, and quietly welcome the things you want to invite into your life?

Talk soon…

G