Neither here nor there.

Two worlds, two winters. Family and friends, scattered. Dual joy, double delight, halved, from time to time, by absence.

I waver in a posture that cannot be sustained.

Neither this nor that.

I miss winter bulbs here and early blossom there. The magnolias bud without me; the maples form a tapestry of red on green I am not there to see.

I swap birdsong, bare branches and leaden skies for the muffle of fresh fallen snow, for Alpenglow and waves of ever green.

Neither wrong nor right.

I fret about water pipes and empty rooms and post piled high, unopened.

Neither dark nor light.

Dawn breaks slow and early, both here and there. Night skies there are tragic, a glow of urban orange. Here, gems sparkle in sheets of satin, dark. 

Neither black nor white. 

Floating in the gray. Suspended, during flight, in endless night or brilliant dawn until the bumpy landing.

Two parts form the whole, tilting, shifting, melding.

I teeter in a posture. How long can this remain?

Neither black nor white. Neither dark nor light. Neither wrong nor right. Neither this nor that.

Neither here nor there.