Suddenly a mist ...

Suddenly a mist fell from my eyes and I knew the way I had to take. -- Edvard Grieg
 
Transitions.  We all face them throughout life, many of them positive, others not so much.  Chris and I have certainly experienced our share over the past fourteen years together overseas, and we’re embracing a new one right now, squinting into the future to see where we might come out, documenting the past so we don’t forget where we’ve been. 
 
In truth, it’s an odd place to be, and we’re thankful to be tackling it together.  This particular transition is new to both of us, strangely difficult and yet wonderful at the same time. We’re determined to meet it head on, to embrace every second of the journey, and to come out the other side, wherever that may be. 
 
So much of life is about moving, churning, grinding out the day-to-day, comfortable in the knowledge that even if we’re not productive, at least we’re active.  It’s human nature to crave that feeling of “doing something” – so much so that it eventually becomes difficult to simply “be still.”
 
After fourteen years in the chaos, noise, brilliance, grime and fascination of Asia, this Fall we suddenly find ourselves in the relative stillness of life here on the Hill.  It’s comforting, to be sure, but also inexplicably disquieting – an ironic term if ever there was to describe our current situation.  Quiet is what we’ve missed for so many years living in Asia.
 
The sound of leaves rustling in the trees, the chipmunks scurrying across the deck, the woodpecker banging on a hollow tree, the hawk occasionally shrieking from her perch high above the glen.  These are sounds you can’t hear in the chaos of China, something that was confirmed when a friend from Fuzhou visited us here on the Hill recently.  Sitting on our deck in the cool of an evening, he suddenly stopped, held up his hand and said, “Wait!  What’s that sound??”  We all sat quietly and listened.  Chris and I couldn’t hear anything, until suddenly we realized he was referring to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees.
 
He sat there quietly for several minutes, just listening, then suddenly broke into laughter like a child who had just discovered the magic of Christmas morning.  It was truly wonderful.  For those trapped in the urban chaos of Chinese cities, these are the sounds only read about in books or chattered about in noisy cafes over loud games of Majong.  It was wonderful to experience his wonder.
 
Even in this photo of misty stillness, if you look closely you’ll see a small fawn moving across the glen.  Moving, quietly moving forward.  We don’t anticipate this latest transition will be a short one, and we’re prepared to enjoy the ride, but we also know that one morning we’ll awake to discover the mist has fallen from our eyes and we know the way we have to take.