Our lives are marked by seasons. These seasons are not the cyclical rhythms of spring-time rains, breath-taking summer sunsets, or chilly autumn winds; rather, they are the stages of our lives. At the edges of these seasons are demarcations which show when we underweant a metamorphosis of the soul. In those crystaline moments who we are is stripped down to our essence, that which is no longer required is stripped away, and we are then re-equipped to make the transition from one way of doing/being and into another. What do we do when we find ourselves at that terrifying liminal edge and realize that change is upon us? Do we press forward into what follows, or do we tie a rope to the nearest tree and fight to remain as we are?