Puxatawney Phil, the famous
western PA groundhog, came up over a month ago and let us know that it would be
an early spring. He saw no shadow, which according to the lore, means we in PA
would experience the warmth, growth and energy of another spring a little earlier than might be expected. Of course,
Phil’s predictions are subject to question: Groundhog Day is February 2, and
there are always at least 6 more weeks until the vernal equinox and the
beginning of the spring season. But I love the lore of Phil; I am a big fan of many
folkloric and cultural traditions, and Phil grew out of the German cultures that came to Pennsylvania in the 1700's. For me, though, Phil is in no way a real indication of spring. For me there is no
more reliable and powerful indicator of spring than the wonderful changes in the morning light
that surrounds us.
I am an early
morning walker. I like to get up between 5 and 6 and walk either north up to
Chestnut Hill, south to Germantown, or west deeper into West Mt Airy. I love
the quiet of that time; the stillness and the grandeur. I am also a lover of
winter’s night skies-intense and dramatic as they are. That combination of
waking and walking early and the presence of the winter night sky regularly bring me quiet joy and comfort.
I love watching the slow change in the locations of the constellations over the
course of a winter, and I love watching the moon cycle through its phases. Both
of these celestial happenings seem so much starker and definite in winter.
Watching the day come into being earlier and earlier as winter goes on is also fascinating.
I notice the way shadows shift, the way light is reflected off rooftops and
grass, and on some mornings I get to see this wonderful eerie rolling fog move over some of the larger
expanses of lawns and streams. Around the last week in February that
starts to change, however, and I have to adjust. It is lighter when I arise,
and the sky at 5:30 is not quite as dark and dramatic as it was a week or so
ago. The constellations are not as bright, and the light of the new day is
visible earlier. It is a different sky now, and we are relentlessly
transitioning from one season to the next. Part of me misses the old winter night
sky; I almost go through a brief mourning period. Then I notice that at around
6: 15, if I am looking southeast, I can see the sun as a bright reddish-orange
disk above the housetops and the day seems to rush into being, And if I am out
for a nice long walk like I was this morning, I can watch that sun gradually become
more and more visible and seemingly rise above us. This, too, is a glorious way to start
the day.
So while I like the
story of Phil and know that its origins are with Candlemas Day and the
hedgehogs in Germany during the Roman era, it is the light that most alerts me
that we are entering that next phase of the cycle of seasons. It lets me know exactly where we are in the
cycle. It is undeniable. And when I am out noticing the light I also get to look at the lawns and
I can notice the snowdrops and pansies as they make their first appearance of
the year. I also get to notice more bird activity as species that have been
around all winter get more active, and some new ones are starting to be heard. And watching the different colors and aspects
of sunrise is a joy to behold. Yes, I
still miss the winter night sky, and I probably will for a while. But I can also
welcome this new sky, the one that tells me this marvelous cycle is still in
play and that it has different joys and wonders for me if I pay attention. And that is very good indeed.
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