In between days...

When I woke up this morning the light was grey with rain, the room softened by it, lulled by the patter of drops echoing in the double glazed window sills.  In bed, wrapped in the duvet, snuggled by husband and cat, this morning felt so familiar and I tried to snag the drifting trail of this sensation.  The cool, pale air, the warmth, the sense of waking naturally without an alarm...

I still can't place it, whether it just feels like a thousand other autumn or late-spring days, full of breezes, dampness and cloud coloured light.  Maybe it just reminds me of itself, my brain mis-firing and creating a circuit straight into memory...

What-ever it was, it was delicate contentment.  A moment of peace before thought, when you truly were only in-the-moment, in that space between sleep and coherence.

The weather outside is much the same now, the clouds bringing the roof of the world closer, the colour of a mourning dove's wing.  It's raining still, small drops shaking the spring green of the trees outside the window.  Enough to dapple the ground but too little to make the self-conscious brolly-holders feel justified.

I long to be beneath the duvet, chasing after that moment of familiarity, the darkness streaked with grey light, one foot out of the side of the bed feeling the coolness of the room outside the duvet cocoon.

That in between-ness calls to me, calls to all of us; the twilight between day and night, the dim empty halls between rooms, the space between life and death, the darkness beneath the trees on a bright summer day...

What if you were neither one thing or another?  What if you were always between states, places, time?  What if you were as intangible as smoke, the pale grey of a mourning dove's wings...

Maybe you are?

Maybe I am too.