found in transition

The proverbial leaves are changing... at least in Phoenix they're proverbial. Unlike most areas of the country where seasons change obviously and gradually, Phoenix seasons change quickly and without much warning. Summer melts into fall, and fall is virtually indistinguishable from winter. One day you're sweltering in 100 degree heat, driving your car with your knees because you'll incur first degree burns if you touch the steering wheel, and the next day - BAM! You’re trying to figure out which of last year’s long sleeve shirts still fit.

Blink and you'll miss it.

But we transition nonetheless. Small changes indicate that it's happening; a cool breeze in the morning, a less intense warmth during my walk to the Capitol cafeteria for lunch, a fiery sunset by the time I get home at 5 o’clock.

They’ve become some of my favorite parts of the day.

We're moving tomorrow, across the complex and into a slightly bigger two-bedroom apartment, and I'm living in a world of cardboard box transition. My industrious husband has already packed away the living room, the bathroom, and the closet. I, in my overwhelming desire to be helpful, have packed nothing. We're saying goodbye to our little love nest and hello to an upgraded model. It’s bittersweet, but I’m ready to go.

I think transition it good. At least, I know it's good for me, even thought I won't readily admit it. I need the time to appreciate what I'm leaving behind and anticipate what's ahead. Lord knows I won’t do it myself. I’m a Phoenix season, barreling forward without so much as a turned leaf or southbound bird.

But I transition nonetheless. Small changes indicate that it’s happening; a quiet spirit when I would otherwise be wracked with impatience, a brief reflection to a long-forgotten memory, a rush of excitement as the next step draws near.

They’ve become some of my favorite parts of me.