I had no word for it until now.
The feeling, a mourning, a lament for having missed the best of a place.
Or at least the frustration of being told that I’ve missed the best, feigning that I’m mourning the fact, while I am actually quite enjoying what is in front of me to experience.
The word for this is “azaleation” as given to us all by poet, Howard Nemerov, and revealed to me by Billy Collins in an introduction to his poem The Sandhill Cranes of Nebraska. The poem, part of Collins’ new book, Aimless Love: New and Selected Poems, demonstrates the meaning of this word perfectly.
As for me, I was azaleated in Wilhelmshaven, Germany last spring when I learned that if I had been there six months earlier (or six months later) I would have witnessed a massive bird migration. Wilhelmshaven on the Wadden Sea is the main stopover between South Africa and Russia on an east-Atlantic flyway.
And, I am azaleated just about every fall when I make a day trip northwards from Toronto to enjoy the changing color of the trees only to learn that I’m just a bit early or a bit late.
Fortunately, I wasn’t azaleated when a lenticular cloud formed in Torres del Paine, Chile. I had to research to discover how remarkable these cloud formations are. They appear as disks, even looking in some variations like spaceships. It seems that lenticular clouds are more common at high altitudes and a number very specific variables are required for one to form. I consider myself lucky to have seen one.
So what about you?
What are your experiences of azaleation?
Now here’s Billy Collins’ poem about azaleation.