A New Word for Spring

I just finished The Urban Bestiary again. I think it's my fourth reading.

The first time, I fell in love with possums. The second time it was a huge appreciation for corvids. Truth be told, I was already fond of ravens and grackles, but the book brought them closer. The third time it was starlings, which had only recently arrived in Lubbock. I still marvel that I had to research quite a bit to find that the most common bird in North America was nesting in my backyard elm.

I'm no stranger to new revelations from re-reading. I read Romeo and Juliet five times per year for eight years and I found something new each time. I read Cannery Row every other year and find new joy in the aubades each time. I read the Bible almost daily and I constantly find new nuances and applications buried in familiar verses.

With this reading of The Urban Bestiary, it wasn't a new animal. It was a new word - phenology.

I've been trying it out on friends, but none have known it. They've been guessing it's a complicated psychological term, but it's something much simpler. It's the observation of natural signs of seasonal change.

It's something I've practiced for years without knowing it. Each year I look forward to sharing "The First Lizard of Spring" photo on Mesquite Hugger. (Spoiler alert: it's always a Mediterranean gecko.)

Lately I've noticed the elms budding, the Canadian geese have left town, and the egrets, cormorants, and wigeons are scarce. The blue jays and starlings are back. The days are noticeably warmer.

Lord, how I revel in these things (even though I miss the egrets.) The weather is a little warmer and I;m commuting on the bike more. Being outside is a giving me chance to see more phenological signs.

Through the winter, I've struggled with my commute - mostly in a car; with my job - in a windowless office; and even with my home that I rarely see in daylight.

But spring approaches and I'm armed with a new word. It's time again to live (and watch) more deliberately, to drink in these natural delights. Joy comes in the morning.

May you find your own new word and awaken from whatever slumber has held you. May you enjoy the season deliberately.