Here we are, already, in the borderlands between August and September, between summer and fall, between the end of something and the beginning of something else—uncertain, untried, and vast as the regions on the far side of Hadrian's Wall.
I feel like this small bird perched on the solid old stone, the known quantity, the line already drawn that helps us get our bearings in a vertiginous landscape of change.
I feel the the liminality of this day, the last day of the month, and of my birdlike state between flight and falling as the year turns and the earth on its ponderous axis.
What auguries are in us, dear bird?
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Bird on Hadrian's Wall
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