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There are some evenings when, at sundown, the warm winds blow down to the beach, and the dry leaves suddenly rustle across the pavement.
Some mornings the fog comes rushing up through the canyon, runs into the Mesa where the creek splits, and piles up to hide the sunlit mountain.
This was taken at six in the morning, out my kitchen door, as a hawk flies out of view.
The western mountainside, just moments ago brightly lit by the rising sun, suddenly disappears behind the moving cloud of fog.
Now you see it, now you don't. What once was clear is now obscured.
That's been the way of things lately, it seems.
In the office, daily work is affected by unknown conflicts that are raging far beyond our blanket of fog. Sudden scrutiny is brought to bear on ordinary tasks - the submission of invoices for payment, perhaps. The too-carefully-worded email reminder that covers someone's rear ("just to recap our conversation this morning...."). The admonishment to cc someone, or, worse, to "talk to me before you call so-and-so!" Trivial details suddenly take on an unusual importance, while the office's real mission goes ignored.
A co-worker under pressure is allowing stress to affect her health. Such illness and frequent absences delay other colleagues' work, adding more stress.
Plans to close an operation were announced last year, and the employees learned they would be let go. Now the closure has been rescheduled six months later. The employees are not sure what to think.
A sharp-tongued rebuke is given to a staff member in front of colleagues from another department. Everyone looks away in embarrassment.
I'm not used to office politics. I'm used to definite tasks - loading trucks, painting walls, moving furniture, or building something. Planning an event, and paying the bills. Finish the draft, mop the floor, serve the meal, and make sure the curtain goes up on time at eight.
I'm not used to spending the workday covering butts (mine or someone else's), trying not to offend, eavesdropping, second-guessing, looking over your shoulder or turf-grabbing. That kind of stuff fills me with a sense of dread and paralysis.
What's going on? It's all hidden in the fog.
What's it like in your world - are there moments of intrigue and uncertainty? How do you navigate the shifting currents?