The trees in this picture are blurry. I cannot make out where the trunks begin and the ground ends. The yolk of light from the sun seems like it would be warm to the touch, but alas it is not. I tried. It isn't even clear whether it is dawn or sunset when the photographer chose to go walking. Knew that crisp images are not the only ones worth capturing.

There are a forest of changes in my life and probably yours too. My job has morphed, the twins will soon be behind the wheel, and this summer there will be a granddaughter to love. None of these novelties are unique to me, and I find reassurance in the fuzzy companionship of those who are farther along the trail. I watch as friends settle into routines of Grandmahood: how often to arrive with a balloon, how many trips to the duck pond. My own mother was a long distance player, only seeing her grandchildren a spate of days each August. She didn't call to talk to them, though she did mail birthday cards. Never quite learned how to spell one grandchild's name. 

The mist is a protection. If it were definitive how we should behave in every possible circumstance, freedom would be irrelevant. But God is particular in His penchant for liberty. Plus I like knowing that even those landscapes that are out of focus for me are crystal clear to Divine eyes.