Today the world rests in-between. Still half-dressed in the brightness of autumn, she has donned a soft, white coat. Before still clings, peeking out beneath new.
In this place, walking beneath the in-between branches, the slightest breath pours down a gentle dusting of fresh grace, resting on eyelashes, dampening cheeks.
With the walking, damp beauty fades to sloppy slush and change becomes a place where socks and hems wick wetness, where rivulets fill crevices.
In this in-between place where the feet and cheeks are wet and the seasons unclear, where courage struggles to stand beneath the weight, be encouraged.
The valley of weeping can become a place of refreshing springs for all who walk there. A place where the pools reflect beauty from above.
And the wade through slushy streams might be a walking through mere mess melting away. Or it might be first steps into the river that flows too deep to cross, transforming all it meets.
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