The Waiting Place

The Waiting Place….for people just waiting

Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come , or a plane to go

or the mail to come , or the rain to go

or the phone to ring , or the snow to snow

 or waiting around for a Yes or No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

(From: Oh, the Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss)

I love Dr. Seuss. But, I think he might have oversimplified the Waiting Place. I’ve been in the Waiting Place since after Christmas when my mother became sick and died. I waited in her hospital room every day while she was transitioning from this life… (to another?) And every day since her passing, I’ve been waiting to see what my life will become without the responsibility (and pleasure) of caring for this person who was the focus of so much of my attention these last six years. While I’ve been waiting, I’ve been taking care of business, travelling, and pursuing my creative interests, but it’s been waiting none the less. I think this is the nature of transitions. It’s that place between what was and what’s to come. Dr. Suess calls this “a most useless place”. Here’s where I disagree. I think it’s a difficult place, but not a useless one. Change rarely happens overnight or on a pre-determined schedule. His words do, however, carry a fair warning. There’s a danger of getting stuck in the Waiting Place. Sometimes we forget that we’re only meant to be there temporarily while our systems are  adjusting  and preparing for the change to come.

And the change will come.

One morning we’ll  wake up and realize that it’s spring. The robins who’ve been waiting too are suddenly singing at dawn with their newly found purpose. The  recently frozen ground cracks and the first shoots appear. The ponds unthaw and running water is the background melody again.


All in the right time. The waiting somehow makes this so much more exquisite.

Summer Collapses Into Fall


It’s undeniable. The shift has occurred, or the collapse as Oscar Wilde writes. All of the other seasons seem to creep in around the edges, but not fall. The leaves on the trees are green – and then suddenly they’re not. One day we’re swimming, the next we’re wearing polars and searching out a sunlit place to have our morning coffee.

There’s a poignancy to the fall. Smells and sounds are intensified and nostalgia runs deep. The crate of apples at the back door, the muskiness of freshly raked leaves, and the honking of the first geese to fly overhead is the stuff of poetry.


Even the clouds hang differently in the sky at this time of year: they are lower and heavier and seem to blanket the landscape.  And the chillier nights have fog snaking into the valleys waiting for the weakening sun to burn it off a bit later each day.


Fall is the last act of the seasonal play. Lucky for us, we all get to be actors in this final scene. For me, that means enjoying every mouthful of fresh produce while it is still available.


And spending as much time outdoors as possible.


Perhaps it’s knowing that the end is in sight that makes this last season all the sweeter. There’s no more looking forward, there is only now. And now is very, very generous.

Enjoy this transition to fall everyone!