A Liminal Place is Itself a Space - Spring Equinox

Archdruid: Oh, we're halfway there.

All: Oh, livin' on a prayer.

Archdruid: Behold we are in the land of halves! Just as the ink is black, the paper's white.

Hnaef: But there can be blue ink.

Daphne: Or green paper, for people with dyslexia.

Archdruid: OK. Just as there is day and night.

Marston: Although I quite like twilight. The time of mystery and sacredness, when the shadows are long, and the air yearns for the old times.

Archdruid: As there is male and female..... OK. I know what you're all gonna say. Let me start again.

Archdruid: Let us not be fooled, at this time of equinox, into thinking that the world is all black and white, binary opposites, good and evil. All things in this world are half-tones, shadows and borderlands. A liminal place is itself a space.

All: Oh, we like that.

Archdruid: Not my own. One of Jeeves's. And so we encounter whatever mystic thing it is we're after, here in the half-lands of the imagination. The equinoctial sunrises, ragged, in a windy sky - as the cloud blows through we have echoes of the winter, yet hope for the summer.

All: The sun? Where is it?

Archdruid: Not risen yet. I was being poetic again.

All: Right-ho. Can we sing " Colours of Day" now?

Archdruid: Yeah, go on. I need me breakfast.

The Solemn Ritual of Mutual Equinoctial Felicitations

Archdruid: Happy Spring!

All: And also with you.