Some things here at the old house in on the island don’t change a lot … the live oak trees, the spanish moss, the way the sandy soil of the yard sinks underfoot.
Other things seem to be in perpetual flux. The sounds of traffic on the road a few blocks away. The scents that whisper on the incoming breezes…right now, sweet with jasmine and wisteria…or sometimes earthy and salty with the scent of the marshlands.
The changes I mark most are the ones whose change reminds me that, over the span of time, nothing changes so very much. Constant changes. Like the ocean tides. The great horned owls in the hollow of the live oak…mating, brooding, raising their young…and moving on until next time. The anole coming out with the warmth of spring…big dominant males puffing their throats to warn off the small, slender teenagers with their cocky attitudes, and the coy females who in the end, really make all the decisions.
Frogs and toads are laying their eggs, and soon that too will signal change as they become tadpoles and tadpoles become frogs/toads and the damps areas of my yard come alive with song.
The pear tree has blossomed already. There will be fruit before long. I await the promise of the fig I have so carefully nurtured through all these winters and this spring’s random frosts far too late in the year…. without someone to cover and protect it, there would be no sweet fruit this year. No promise of tiny baby fig trees to grow and continue into the future.
Changes that serve as reminders that it is my privilege and my duty to protect this fragile environment around me. I don’t grow exotic plants. I nurture the ones nature placed here…and the ones generations past left behind. Like the ancient azaleas lining the yard and standing in odd circles about the yard where once… decades ago, they surrounded some long ago tree….now lost to the changes of time and the vagaries of weather. Yet the azaleas remain, reminding us of time past…and changes yet to come.
Immutable change…as constant and unpredictable as my ocean.