Transitions

I woke this morning to heavy mist, the kind that seems to signal some kind of change in the weather.  In this case, the two days of reasonably cool days and cooler nights that we've had are supposedly giving way to several more days of heat. (I guess the warm upper air that let the fog form is going to descend on us--oh joy.)  Fog, besides demonstrating atmospheric transition, has always seemed mysterious to me; as a girl, I loved walking, and even driving, in swirling mist.

This morning's fog seems an appropriate marker of the state of my life, since this has been a summer of transitions.  The shift in certain people's health statuses has caused different caregiving responsibilities, with additional and different check-ins.  We may have inherited a cat whose human can no longer care for her, bringing our total to five, way over the "one cat per human" guideline followed for most of my adult life.  (Anyone out there want a declawed, one-eyed, geriatric calico cat who wants to be an only feline?) There is the obvious transition of adjusting to life in a new place with what should have been a new garden, though the deer and the poor soil have left some of our plants in a pitiful state.  Here's hoping that the decrease in level in the compost bin signals that compost is in fact happening.

The major transition has been my husband's finding of the job he's always wanted, in a city five hours away.  Two committed adults with computers and cell phones can of course maintain contact under such conditions, but this was not a change we had planned for. Helping him get settled, I have found much to like about the new location, not least the abundant city green space, great birding, and mass transit, and his new dean has noted that there are likely to be positions in my field next year. This possibility seems worth exploring. The future right now is as misty and mysterious as the back yard.