White ash

White ash covered the grass, yesterday. The car was veiled by a film. The plants in my garden held flakes on their leaves. The sun shone an odd tint of orange, like mid-afternoon or early morning, though the shadows moved throughout the day. The air was laced with tiny dots, rising and falling, floating and swirling. I coughed and wheezed a bit.

A forest fire some distance away had taken to decorating my world. I feel like a flake of ash today, coasting, slowly on the currents, like a jellyfish, casually, occasionally pumping my beautiful bell, not really designed for locomotion, not truly able to influence my path.

I read BrightStar's recent post. I'm feeling oddly serene about this all. We have a move ahead of us. Everything is being arranged. We'll take a house-hunting trip the end of this month. The movers will come ideally sometime in the first or second week of October. I need to find an office, and get set up.

I'm not feeling terribly confident about finding a faculty post this year. But I'm beginning to settle with the idea that, barring that, I can just head off on my own. Dr. Dad, PhD. I've got ideas. Why wallow in the misery induced by faculty search committees without the vision to see what I'm worth? And why allow their lack of vision to muddy my own. I can see clearly. (Hothouse Flowers' song is not yet my own, but I'm getting there). It's just up to me to see the right horizon and head directly for it.