It’s no longer winter. It’s definitely not spring. We’re here… at the cut line.
I’ve been itching to get out, camera in hand, to shake out my feet and free up my soul. The trappings of this in-between make me restless. I stare out a window at the gray and covet color.
It’s been a long, slow winter here in the Northeast. Those who once helped me shovel out after blizzards are on to other things now, so it’s just me and my snowblower. And a couple of shovels leaning against the far wall in my garage. We could still get socked by a storm, but I’m peering over the line, toward my memories of warmth and a saturated point of view. So on Saturday, with low 50s reading on my weather app, I grabbed an X100s and headed out.
Here’s the outcome of my walk along the cut line. We’re crossing over soon.