# Demarking the Divide

## The Lines We Draw

We spend our days drawing lines. Around properties, opinions, even people. These marks define us—fences in yards, borders on maps, labels in conversations. They bring order, but also separation. On a walk last winter, I traced a stick through fresh snow, watching my line vanish under the next flurry. That's demarking: the natural fade of what we impose.

## Erasing to See Clearly

Demarking isn't destruction; it's revelation. Think of a cluttered desk, scribbled notes everywhere. One steady pass with an eraser uncovers the wood grain beneath, smooth and whole. In life, we demark old grudges by forgiving quietly, or shed roles that no longer fit. It's a patient act, done in soft light, without force. By 2026, amid faster worlds, this feels essential—peeling back digital trails and self-made walls to breathe easier.

## A Shared Blank Canvas

When we demark together, something opens. Neighbors share a once-fenced garden; friends drop "us versus them." No grand manifesto, just small erasures: listening without judging, walking without stamping paths.

- Let go of one line today.
- Notice what emerges.

In demarking, we don't lose ourselves—we find the unbroken ground we all stand on.

*On February 16, 2026, the snow fell soft, inviting us to start anew.*