I am a very mathematical woman, rounding out not off. Outside numbers, it is much less clear where I am. In between things. Transitional, as I have always been, only more so. Changing. Like a tree shedding bark.
I read somewhere that when you are in transition you should go out and walk across bridges. I read it the year I was searching everywhere for images of those Oriental tea garden bridges which I have always loved. Walk across bridges. Walk across rope bridges that sway over swelling rivers, that collapse to the touch of a wild Wyoming wind in winter. That is the truth of bridges. Bridges are not easy. They deny you the security of gravity, the central relationship of your flesh and the earth.