The thud jolted me awake. We had landed, abruptly, on the snowy black runway of Logan International.
The last time I had looked out the window, we had been surrounded by a sky of white. The time before, a pale blue filled the air, the sun shimmering from just out of sight. Here it was dark, but white at the same time. The sky was paradoxically dull and bright, like the snow on the ground, piled high by plows and refrozen since its earlier debut. Everywhere, things were shades of gray: black pavement, white snow, and gray skies.
Gray, the in-between color. The color opposing opposites, blending day and night, coming and going, arrival and departure. Gray, indeed, was the mood of the landing. I had returned to Massachusetts, but was I ending my winter vacation, or rather beginning my second trip away from home? Had I returned home, or left it?
It was a time of transition, too; between Philadelphia and Boston, between computer work and school work, high school friends and university friends. But that moment was no more a transition than the entire day, the entire year, or my entire post-secondary experience. I was in a great period of transition.
I am in a great period of transition.
I'm beginning a new type of semester. "Spring" Semester they call it. Makes you think of green grass and chirping birds. Tell that to the thermometers. But at the end, there will be spring. The grass will start to grow. I won't be starting.
In times of transition, many things may not be as simple as black and white, but some things are still certain. For one, I'm back.