The trees have held onto their leaves long beyond most Novembers although many of the leaves are darkening in color and lightening in weight. A good storm or two, a strong cold front, and we’ll have tipped into winter or at least its early scouts.
More or less, we’re at a tipping point all the time, always on the cusp of change, but sometimes it just seems more so this way. Sitting in at Unity Village where Kelley and I are about to lead replenishing Brave Voice retreat, I’m more aware of how things seem to be swiftly preparing to change. A lot of travel and work-related overwhelm behind me is smoothing out for a winter, I hope, that includes more time to sit in one place, read a novel, and hold the cats. Many projects of house renewal are done: walls painted, floored tiled or pergo-ed, a porch cleaned, and many multitude of Ikea things snapped or screwed together. My stint as acting program director of the Goddard Graduate Institute is winding down in about six weeks, and I’ve managed to dull some of the sharper edges of that learning curve. The retreat Kelley and I have been dreaming up together is about to start and unfold, giving me time to hold the space for others and myself to pay more attention to the real world. And night is about to reach the tipping point of day.
There comes a moment in all tipping points when the weight shifts just enough for one thing to turn into another, and here we are — always — on this bright and dark November night with gratitude and curiosity for all.