Things
are happening; they’re in flux.
Sometimes
the glacial pace of transition is only evident in retrospect: looking in the
mirror and seeing a wider swath of gray hair; holding the now-thick bulk of a
manuscript that we had added to in tiny increments over many months; noticing
how the height of a tree sapling has now surpassed our own.
Other
times we see the transition as it is unfolding. This week so much change is
apparent:
the
smoky haze that lingered for weeks dissipated over several days and one gentle
mist-of-a-rainfall;
sweat-inducing
temperatures have now cooled off;
the
doe and her two spotty fawns are increasing their presence, eating the edges of
our yard and squatting like dogs to deposit the pellets my own canine sniffs
out with great interest;
the
dozens of slate blue, flattened-crisp snakes baked onto asphalt roadways are
slowly being picked up by crows and moved to who-knows-where;
one
yellow leaf on a distant alder and the faded-to-dark-green of the family of
deciduous leaves herald the near end of summer;
the
shape of the sun and its location seem to shift almost daily; sunrises and
sunsets color different inside corners of the house than last week;
every
day this week yesterday’s hard red blackberry has softened into a plump bruise
of a color;
the
osprey has come back to call from the towering trees above;
and
the lavender stems that have bloomed since last week’s harvest are drying on
the plant more quickly than their predecessors.
Transitions
are here.
Seasonal.
Professional. Personal. Relational. Spiritual.
And
I, for one, am calmed and relieved to notice them as they move, grow, flourish,
fade.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2017 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
