"Every new beginning is some other beginnings end." The Thyrsus sings quietly to himself as he works. The man is on his hands and knees, carefully placing seeds in small holes dug at 6 inch intervals along a broken stone path.

It's simple work, time consuming and meditative. His garden in Los Angeles had been beautiful, years of cultivation of the soil and soft encouragement to the spirits had led to beautiful blossoms. It pained him a little that he was starting over. Starting over is painful. The pain of breaking through a shell to emerge into a new life, it's all throughout nature, birds from eggs, butterflies from cocoons, plants from seeds...

He pauses to glance around his garden. Just a path through a patch of dirt right now, but he can envision its future. It will be bigger and more beautiful that his last garden. And here he will find his repose, his respite from the omnipresent oppression of a restrictive reality.