Listening for Spring

I am no balcony person when it comes to springtime.  I like to get out there and enjoy each greening blade of grass, marvel at the daffodils, and behold nature’s pallet of pastels all around me.  I like to get my hands dirty in the soil, enjoying each moment as a reprieve from winter’s cold.

Much of my experience of springtime is visual.  I talk of what I see more than what I hear, taste, feel, sense, or experience. 

I enjoy listening to springtime, also, and feeling its presence on my skin and in the air I breathe (aachooo!).    I owe the delight of experiencing springtime in all my senses largely due to Joe.

Joe lost his vision decades ago as a young boy.  As his pastor, I would often meet him downtown at his office where we would walk to lunch.  Taking me by the elbow, Joe would converse as he gave me directions to the restaurant.  I learned from Joe how to describe where the food was on the plate, as on the face of a clock. I also learned to be alert with my ears and to sense with every nerve my surroundings. 

Joe would usually call the Church office the day after the publication of the newsletter to note grammatical or factual errors in our articles.  Once he reminded me it was Brambleton Avenue, not Street.  That did not puzzle me as much as the spelling errors he would bring to my attention.  “How did you find the spelling errors?” I ‘d ask.  “I have a very good reader who points out the grammatical errors,” Joe noted.  “But sometimes,” he added, “I can just sense them.”

Joe loved spring because, I imagine, of his highly developed senses.  He could acutely feel the changes: the warmth of the sunshine cutting through the still frosty morning; the birdsongs forming a glorious rhapsody; the breeze rustling the blossom ladened trees; and even the nuisance of the power mowers waking from their winter’s sleep.

I am grateful for each springtime that rolls around, and I am grateful to Joe who taught me how to more fully enjoy springtime and life.