Last night as I went out at twilight to shut away the chickens and geese, I was stopped in my tracks, delighted. After the rain we had at the weekend, the stream was flowing strongly. The sound of tumbling water mingled with the resonance of birds passionately singing the day down into night. It was a beautiful, enchanting music in the fading light.
As I came back up the hill I became aware that the birds had fallen silent, hushed by the oncoming darkness of night - but for a tawny owl who was beginning her watch with some soft, quavering hoots.
It was only a few minutes, yet in that time the switch was made from day to night. And I didn't notice exactly when it happened, only that it had.
That was the liminal time, the inbetween time, the time when it is neither day or night. A time of magic when anything can happen, the time between time.
In folklore and fairy tale, the liminal times and places - Samhain, midnight, dawn, threshholds literal and metaphorical are where the magic happens. In permaculture, it is understood that the edges (between say, woodland and field, or water and earth) are the richest in biodiversity. There is magic, tangible magic in the inbetween places.
Tonight I will listen more closely, pay attention and see if I can perceive the imperceivable. And if I can, perhaps one day I may slip through the crack between here and there.
If I do - what will I find?