Spring has blown through the Texas.
What had been but a few weeks before a silent walk was now a rather noisy excursion. The birds that I had been looking for so intently in Winter were now turning the tables, throwing down their catcalls with the volume and persistence of Manhattan construction workers.
When nature comes back to life post winter, Man is hardly an exception. I begin to realize how plain my thinking can be as I see how crowded the paths are, many people recognizing the first day of pleasant weather and also choosing to venture out. The weather has changed so quickly that not everyone has shed their winter coats. A couple walks past, one in shorts the other in pants and sweater; people are slow to adjust. I have always been a victim of this slow adaption and have my sweater tied around my waist as I realized how warm it had become so quickly.
The weather is clearer and the dreary greys of winter beginning to disappear as nature begins to diversify its pallet.
Growing up in the Texas hill country made me a little unobservant of nature. Looking at any particular tree carried with it a 90 percent chance of staring at another cedar and my contempt for that particular species of tree only grew with the years. Now I have learned that it is actually the home of the Golden Cheeked Warbler, something I do enjoy, but as a kid it was merely impossible to climb and all too sticky and pungent. This dull monotony of sights (or at least ones visible to the inattentive) was only ever punctuated by early spring when Texas wildflowers would paint or yellowing lawns with splashes of bright colors. Even this though was not so prevalent in the overly manicured lawns of southwestern suburbs. Strangely enough, upon moving into the city for college was when the flowers really began to make an impression on me.
“I owned my farm for two years before learning that the sky dance is to be seen over my woods every evening in April and May.” – Aldo Leopold
The flowers would play out like fireworks, coming in waves. First would come the brilliant contrast of the small plumes of indian paintbrushes engulfed in masses of bluebonnets but then they would fade away as the colors lining the roads would shift to be replaced by the pinks of the primrose or the crimson of the firewheel. Though just like a firework show the season would start and stop with break neck speed. This year it felt like even more of a jolt.
I noticed this as I walked down the path along the Colorado. The air was fresh and the ground underneath was only slightly damp from the rains that had taken hold earlier in the year. My boot was still covered with dried mud but this was slowly rubbing off and being replaced with the tint of pollen. The flowers had erupted along the pathway in large bunches, garnishing what had been relatively barren but a week prior.