Having answered mail, dealt with laundry, had breakfast and other morning tasks, I now am in between. Or so I think.
The snow is no longer falling, yet it remains on the ground back and front, in the garden, on the sidewalk and the street, and on the trees and cars and rooftops. The melt is begun. Is that in between?
In between the flakes yet during, I read Shantideva, who says:
« Beings, brief, ephemeral,
Who fiercely cling to what is also passing,
Will catch no glimpse of happiness… »
Like snowmen fighting over an igloo in the sun.
So much frenzy in the grab to hold what is passing! It may be jewels, lovers, positions, sensations, beliefs, fingernails.
I clip the nails as they grow. In between yet during is also passing on and on.