Liminal is a word for the in-between. It describes states, times, spaces, etc., that exist at a point of change—a metaphorical threshold. . . . something that is barely perceptible or barely capable of eliciting a response.

https://www.merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day/liminal-2024-09-15

These days between Christmas and New Year’s Day are liminal. Quiet, with few demands made. When an email is sent or a phone call is made, there is little expectation of a reply until after January 1. Practically no one schedules appointments or events unless they have previously confirmed that the other party will be around and available. We exist in a state of near-invisibility, anticipating a muted response to any inquiry, as if everyone is half-asleep.

Adding to this illusion today is the grayness, the wetness, the fog hovering near the ground that just yesterday was covered in snow and is now a soggy brown with hints of dead grass. A book I read as a child included a line that has remained with me: “New England, as usual, has gone white for the winter, and it will be many weeks before we see the earth again.”[1] Sadly, New England—at least, southern New England—no longer goes white for the winter. Our so-called winters are now little more than strings of rainy gray days, occasionally punctuated by squalls that leave heavy, wet snow/slush combinations to be scraped away before they turn into puddles topped with papery layers of ice like an inferior crème brûlée.