The older I get, the more I realize where I am, or rather when I am.

Call it increased self-knowledge, or awareness, but I’ve never noticed spring like I am right now. The signs of spring are hard to come by where I live: no snow melts, very few daffodils push through and then, only when they’ve been planted in a yard and the air only sometimes smells of new blooms.

In the past I’ve been more aware of the situations around me than I have been of the season. Last year, I was planning my daughter’s summer and looking toward Kindergarten. Two years ago I had a newborn. And each year I taught I always looked with longing toward the two months of ease that June and July brought.

Spring in California is moderate and fair and brings warm breezes and puffy clouds. It is calm and points forward. Spring sneaks by and paves the silent way for summer. This year however, I can’t help but stare at the bright hills and the mustard blossoms behind my house. Spring is loud this year and scented and for an instant I might feel as if I live in a climate with four distinct seasons.

So maybe it is more than me just stopping to watch the clouds and smell the air; maybe it is more than me being aware of the season. I am distracted as usual by upcoming summer schedules and other responsibilities, but this spring is different. Only a wet winter can green the hills and soak the soil enough for flowers to come through.

Maybe this year is special. This year I am noticing everything and not letting it go by in silence. This year I am chronicling it daily. This year I am paying attention to the season.