Transition

'Transition' seems to be the word of the moment round here. My days (and occasional sleepless nights!) are full of planning and organising to move house, which is looking like it will happen in mid-January. There's a limit to what I can do as I can't really start much packing yet but my head is full of 'stuff'. All the more reason then to take advantage of the occasional crisp, bright, dry day for a restorative walk. The season is in transition too - no longer really autumn but not quite winter. (Although we've had a little snow since I wrote this.) 

The photo above seemed to sum that up. A sycamore tree still doggedly hanging on to its leaves, whilst caught in the branches is a flyer for a Christmas carol concert: 'Carols By Candlelight'. Further along, looking back, the same tree reveals its full glory as the low sun catches it. 

Meanwhile, in Saltaire village, the canal was so calm that the reflection of the New Mill looked almost more substantial than the building itself. 

There is the security point at Salts Mill, with its blue 'Police' sign and attractive, arched windows - though it was the curious, coloured reflection of the window in a puddle that caught my eye this time. If I'd been carrying my camera I could have made more of it, but the phone doesn't have the telephoto reach that I needed. 

By the allotments above the Mill, the brave little silver birch tree still has a shower of golden leaves, looking as rich and bright as gold sovereigns against a blue sky. I've been reading that in Japan they name 72 different micro-seasons in an ancient natural calendar, and that sounds about right when you stop to notice the minor but still noticeable progressions of nature. 

Transition can be unsettling and make us impatient but better to try to live through it with awareness and joy in each moment, or you end up wishing your life away. That's what I'm trying to remind myself.