Ode to the Land: Liminal Wonderings

By Kristine Karpinski

The vernal equinox is just ahead, and as the earth tilts ever so slightly toward the sun, having just passed through the blood moon lunar eclipse, there’s a pause in the air, a kind of space between two worlds. 

We are caught in that liminal space, the moment when winter still has some hold, but the promise of spring lingers just beyond the horizon.

I’ve been watching the tracks of the coyote in the snow and mud, two worlds blending together. There are places where the prints are sharp and crisp, deep in the snow, and places where they blur, softened by slush, as though the coyote is moving through both seasons at once. Its tracks tell a story of transition, of a creature not quite leaving winter behind but also not fully embracing the promise of what is coming. 

The coyote knows how to live in this in-between space; its body moving effortlessly from snow to mud, from cold to warm, from night to day.

The deer, too, are beginning to leave; their numbers diminishing each day. They’ve wintered here in the woods and field, but now they are making their way onward; the ground beneath them softening with each step. Their departure feels like the closing of a chapter; the last remnants of winter, slipping away without fanfare. In their place, the first chipmunks are emerging now, small bursts of energy against the backdrop of melting snow. They are the first to show themselves after the long silence of winter, tiny creatures darting from place to place, hesitant but hungry. 

The trees are still bare, their branches tangled and lifeless, but you can almost feel the energy shifting. The land is waking up, in fits and starts, like a person shaking off the remnants of a long, deep sleep. 

We’ve had recent days when we’ve felt the building shudder, as the roof sheds the weight of winter snow. 

The birds are the loudest sign of the change. Cardinals flashing their red feathers, blue jays calling out in sharp, striking tones, chickadees, finches and others all meeting the shift of the season. The red-winged blackbirds are the loudest of all; their calls filling the air with a sense of arrival, staking their claim on the land. But it’s not just the usual suspects, the land is full of birds now, more than I can name, more than I can see. They seem to fill every corner of the woods; their calls a reminder that we’re in transition.

And then, there’s the skunk. Not seen, not heard, but present in the air, that unmistakable scent drifting on the wind, a reminder that the world has been slowly waking up while we’ve been distracted by the slowness of it all. The skunk is invisible but unmistakably here, a ghost of the earth returning from its winter slumber. There’s something comforting about it, as though the skunk is a marker, a sign that we are passing through the threshold. Its presence lingers but doesn’t linger too long, just enough to remind me that everything is changing, even when I can’t see it yet.

The land is full of contradictions. Mud, thick and sticky, clings to my boots, a sign of the thaw, and also the memory of snow and the promise of new growth. 

The ground is not quite solid, not quite soft, a perfect reflection of the world around me, of this moment between seasons. The tracks of the coyote blur in places, as if it too is uncertain; not sure whether it should stay on the snow or move toward the mud. This is the liminal space, the in-between, where nothing is fully one thing or another. The snow still clings to the edges of the world, while the mud takes over in the middle. The birds fill the air with their calls, but it’s not a celebration yet, just a promise of what’s to come. 

At this time, I wait with it, not rushing, not forcing it to be spring before it’s ready, giving the land time to finish shedding its winter skin, for mud to dry and snow to finally give way. 

Things already move too fast in this world; waiting seems luxurious. 

It is coming, this spring, but for now, the land is here, suspended in the delicate balance of two seasons; and I am here, too, waiting in the in-between, watching the coyote’s tracks that lead me forward, reminding me that even in the midst of this liminal space, there is movement, there is purpose. 

Kristine hosts a variety of offerings - Sound Nidra, Mystery in Motion, etc. Check them out on our website.

Kristine hosts a variety of offerings - Sound Nidra, Mystery in Motion, etc. Check them out on our website.