There is so much ‘in between’ our forces of nature. The loud boom that precedes the crash of lightening. That question—the tension. The oblique light of dusk, nearly a ruby-lith for seeing what is true. It’s the most in between time as day drains and fills with night.
And not only is there a line between earth and sky, a famous phenomenon of ‘in between’ — but there are gaps in rock often so large that fierce animals live the cold dark seasons in these caves and crevasses.
What about the hunt? That moment when prey knows it’s over, there is the gasp and the surrender. The gap between life and death. There is so much ‘in between’ in a single visage; a landscape one seemingly whole until the eyes rests in the gaps. The Zuni made song of such patterns. The Mayan made religious rules from shadows, the shapes and destination points.
I’m thinking that ‘in between’ should have it’s own name—be a word. Just like a tree or sky, or ocean or human laughter. It does occupy a lot of human and physical nature. How could we actually see without it?