Renewal

I spoke earlier of transitoriness. Today I am reveling in rebirth. Is it simply a lawyer's tautological fault to now wonder if rebirth and newness are not exactly the same thing? After the dogs roused me from sleep this morning, demanding that I get my lazy backside out of bed, let them out and feed them, I made a cup of coffee and went to sit on the deck. It's quite early by Sunday morning standards, and the raucous excitement of the day has yet to begin (read: the neighbors haven't fired up their lawn tractors and other gasoline powered yard tools). What I do have is an incredible symphony of birdsong from the heavily-wooded ridge behind my house.  The flutes and oboes of the little songbirds, the percussion of the woodpecker, and just now two Sandhill cranes flew over and added an untuned bassoon note. I don't think I had ever consciously considered the sound of cranes. At first I thought it must be a young crow, but it was the cranes. Although we had a gullywasher of a rainstorm day before yesterday, there are no frogs in the chorus today.  When I have early morning moments of birdsong, I always recall Vienna. One morning, about 200 years ago, I was up early and sitting on the minuscule balcony of my room in a pension. It was spring, so it was probably quite early as the sun tends to make an appearance earlier there than in our southern climes. I recall being truly enchanted by the sound of nothing (it seemed) but birdsong in the middle of that very old, very lived-in city. It was a feeling I have had many times throughout my life of being part of an experience familiar to millions over the history of mankind. Birdsong in the morning. Sun on your face in the afternoon. The sound of the ocean outside the window. It's rather a wonderful feeling of connectedness. Of being part of the human experience.

Rebirth, you say, let's get to the rebirth part. So, I'm sitting here on the deck and I suddenly realize (being in a contemplative mood) that the big lavender plant in the blue pot has come back like gangbusters and there are actually tiny blossoms starting on the tips of some of the branches. The hydrangea plant, still in its plastic nursery bucket, which I fully intended to throw away last summer, has a fine crop of new leaves and will probably be fine if I get busy and properly pot or plant it in the ground. The huge pot of several heuchera plants that I planted several years ago has survived another winter and is putting out a fine crop of various colored leaves. I believe there is already one blossom inflorescence popping up, too. My tautological question is this; are these something truly new and different this year or are they a rebirth of the same being from an earlier time? Or is it too lovely a day to be splitting those hairs?

My corgis are looking distinctly seedy at the moment. Their contribution to new birth is to shed impossible quantities of their rather fabulous coats. This requires a solemn and Herculean effort to remedy (if one is of a tidy bent) and the final disposition of the fluffy piles of dog hair so removed is a real poser. Pumpkin, the antique miniature dachshund, is strutting around with a smug expression on his wizened little face; his ancient coat is so fine and thin that he requests we refer to him as "Slick." He is a strange little fellow. The corgis all have fine white feet, it is a breed characteristic. The gardener comes regularly now and part of his routine is to cut the grass in the dog yard. We also have had a good deal of spring rain lately. So, in this season of rebirth or new life, the corgis all have a slightly green tinge to their fine white feet where they are not sporting a rusty tinge of red from the clay walk around the edges of the dog yard. It's all quite vernal and interesting. "Slick" keeps his dainty little paws quite shiny and black; they remind me of the descriptions of Hercule Poirot's patent leather pumps ...

I stayed up too late again last night doing something, the importance of which completely escapes me this morning. I had every intention of slogging through the dog routine this morning then going back to bed until a civilized hour. It is my intention to drive to Chattanooga today for the gala annual opening of the Sunday Market. I am hoping there are some vendors there with interesting plants for the deck. And to see what spring vegs are on offer for my table. In this season of rebirth and new life, I think I'm glad I stayed up to hear the morning concert.

This picture I cheerfully admit I have appropriated from the collective works (or mindless wanderings) of David Brian Williamson of St. Helens, Oregon. Hey, Dave, if you're gonna put it on Face Book, assume it has gone public! I'm not sure if this is rebirth, renewal or Seaside, Oregon Rock Stars; I just know it's a great photo and I wanted to share it. And it's better than that duck butt one he posted earlier. Well, it's a bit more ethereal ...

Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succor of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evils in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they may have is not ours to rule. (Tolkien, LOTR)