Carp Diem

And we did, we really did. This has been a wonderful day, one to treasure in our memories. Of course, most days for us turn out to be quite wonderful. And they are all treasured. On an ongoing basis, they make up the long, bright thread of our lives. Most certainly there are interruptions in the comfortable recognition of how fortunate we are to live in this era, and where we do, and to have one another. But for the most part life flows along effortlessly, and with a plenitude of gifts.

Today's weather was one. Nature gives us so many pleasurable days, truth to tell, it's amazing that we treasure each one. We don't take anything for granted, actually. Take today, for example, and if you live close to where we do, you probably did take this day, and make the most of it just as we have. In your own way. For us, the day was to delectate over. From early morning, letting our little dogs out for morning relief, and being heralded by our resident cardinal.

To our later walk in the ravine, where we marvelled over the propensity of nature to surprise us, even though we've experienced those surprises repeatedly, over the course of our 72 years of thoughtful and grateful existence. Dandelions already up, and wild strawberry in bloom, and woodland violets too. The trilliums, brilliant red stars, and the shy yellow trout lilies as well.

We heard the white throat trill its incomparable song, recalling memory of so many summer days when we heard that same melody. And the chickadees, flitting from tree to tree, doing their best to emulate that song; close but no cigar. There were a few delicate blues fluttering about, and a number of mourning cloaks. Our little dogs stopped from time to time to nibble on tender fresh grass.

Poplars are beginning to green up, and maple trees have lost their red florets, acquiring tiny perfect green-red leaves instead. Work crews have been in to cut apart and remove from the trails the tragic story of the venerable pines that last Saturday's wind storm cracked into timber; the fragrance of the wounded pine is as glorious as the sight of their death a misery.

The pileated woodpecker whose predations on the trunk of one of those great old pines was partly to cause for its wind-whipped collapse, has no conscience. But we forgive that large, colourful, bell-tongued bird with the primitive skull, for we value its presence as much as we do the trees'. A sharp-shinned hawk flies past, below the newly-leafing canopy; second sighting in two days.

When we arrive back home, out we go again. He plans to empty the garden shed and make some order there, preparatory to receiving the ordered placement of a dumpster so he could remove all of the detritus from the old deck that he has just replaced with a new one. And while he's at it, he plans to clean out the basement of leftover wood and glass from his years-long projects.

While I worked in the garden, cutting back some of the older branches of the climbing roses, the spireas, the tree peonies, the pines and spruce. And just generally do another spring clean-up in the gardens, although there's not that much to do, since the major clean up is conducted in the fall. But emerging heuchera for example, need old leaves removed, that kind of thing.

And it was wonderful to feel the sun on our backs, freeing us from the jackets we'd worn to the ravine. The tulips look insouciant, and the miniature daffodils are lovely little things. The mulberries are beginning to hint at sprouting, the rhododendrons are thick with promising blossoms. The buds on the magnolias are soft and fuzzy; already I can see the crimson emerging.