Fauns will be fauns

Finally, a bright, sunny morning after at least three weeks of almost uninterrupted rain. Thursday morning gave us a hint of what today might bring: Then, for the first time this year, a bright golden orb rose directly east between mountains and the broadleaf silver cloud cover that has kept Portlandia buried these many weeks. Then, for an instant, the pure, undiluted sun poured in over the dusty sills of my eastern windows, gilding everything in its path with precious dawn light. Then, for moments only. Now, for the day. Blue skies, pale, fibrous clouds in tiny scatters. But will this idyll last? After all, it is spring. It might even hail today.

I love this coolness blessed with bright, unblinking sun. It reminds me of early morning in Japan. As I did when I stayed there with my friends, I took my morning shower with the window wide open, so the cool breeze would dry off my body. No fear of lookers’ eyes wandering where they don’t belong. Japanese houses close never opposed their windows, nor did eyes there look on nakedness with any more lust than on a flowering quince. My Portland window too high in its eastern exposure lets me take the same liberties. I can live in a pure world if I want to. And that is what I want. ‘Everything emptying into white.’

Laundry day, but someone has risen earlier to frugally parse the morning, and I have to wait my turn. Having slipped on my workout pants and leaving myself bare-chested, I take some cardboard and plastic to the recycling bins, enjoying the sudden chill of the air, watching my breath escape steamily and dissipate like dew. My trousers snuggle just above my ankles and then hang loosely from the waist. Along with these, my mop of white hair, untrimmed beard and hoof-like, sandaled feet, make me feel and look like Tumnus the faun bringing his drab parcels home from market.

I quickly sense something is lacking: Where are my little horns? Were they sawn off by the White Witch as a punishment for sending a human child, lost in the woods, home? No matter. At least I still have my ta… Wait a minute! Did she cut that off too? How will I keep my balance when I join the naiads and the dryads in the forest dance? My brain races ahead to the true spring, when winter will be gone from this land for good.

Wrong will be right when Aslan comes in sight.

At the sound of His roar, sorrows will be no more.

When He bears His teeth, winter meets its death.

And when He shakes His mane, we shall have spring again.

I finish my walking chore and look around me. The world is still here, the same as it ever was. ‘Silent sunlight, welcome in. There is work I must now begin…’ Even a faun has a job to do, but no matter how old he gets, fauns will be fauns.