1x1xMark: Liminal

Walking through the cypress patch this morning — ducking under twisted hanging limbs, a space between the path and the open sea — I had one of those pauses where the mind clears just long enough for a thought to slip through. A liminal moment. The kind that doesn’t belong to before or after, but the thin, in-between place where something stirs.

It happens on bluff walks, in the car, or anytime I’m suddenly interrupted by my own thinking. A small voice rises — not loud, but certain — and asks to be noticed. I even said it aloud, the way you talk to your dogs because they always seem to listen without needing the backstory.

It wasn’t about the trees or the view. It was simply something I didn’t want to lose. And I’m not someone who records things in notes or reminders. It doesn’t work for me. The thought has to speak first, and I have to answer — I’ll have to remember that one — before the day starts buzzing and pulling me forward.

Most of the time, I lose it anyway.
We all do.
Life interrupts.

But some thoughts circle back. They return in that liminal space between what I carry and what I’m ready to see. They feel almost sacred — small pieces of meaning I don’t want to misplace. Sometimes I think they’re meant to be passed down — reminders or memories that may one day belong to someone I love.

This is the beginning of 1×1×Mark.
A small mark kept — in case it finds someone else, too.