There was no coolness in the air early this morning, none whatsoever. Having arisen before the proverbial "crack" I expected there to be some leftover relief in the air from the night before. Dawn wasn't even a hairline fracture yet. No coolness, just oppressive humidity. Does that portend the day to follow? I wondered.
I laid my eyes upon a magnificent dollop of salmon colored whip cream in the sky. This is the first time I can remember having seen a cloud lit from the East with the dawn side illuminated. I am more familiar with the other side of the hemisphere where evening hues of lavender and apricot paint the Western sky.
A cacaphony of birdsongs filled the thick morning air. They lift the Soul. Are they all really joyously greeting the new day or is there another more mundane reason for this beautiful commotion?
Mornings hold the promise of things yet unseen, unexplored, things yet to be accomplished. A new day to create in, a new chance to try again, a second chance.
The Natural World is full of examples of rebirth and re-emergence. My beloved Catbird couple are apparently trying again at nesting after a disappointing attempt and some very bad luck the first time. They were scurrying about with strands of grass and twigs last week and visiting their old nesting site after being roundly expelled from a chosen Crepe Myrtle by the resident Mockingbird. They are undaunted and have begun again somewhere out of sight in an undisclosed location.
My Nasturtiums are relentlessly fighting the odds after being snacked upon by hungry bunnies. Even though they were cut off in the prime of life they have sprouted the tiniest of rotund little leaves with that unique starburst in the centers.
I have an Alstomeria that has come up for four years now never once flowering! Every year I have counted it out as not having survived the Summer and yet it returns, an intrepid reminder of powerful
universal forces of renewal.
Our Japenese Cherry tree still has viable roots giving it their all after drought and forgetful caretakers nearly killed her. I can almost hear her quietly whispering to me in the breeze through brown and crinkled leaves, "Don't give up on me yet. I will begin again."
Shouldn't we take a cue from Nature and allow ourselves the comfort of a "do-over" without harsh criticism from the voices in our own heads. We knew as very young children if we stumble, scrape our knee or just topple over while attempting our first steps we always could try again, without scorn.
Will we still generously grant ourselves and others renewal, rebirth, healing, forgiveness and a rousing call of "do-over!"?
