The color of the landscape hit me today. Green is all around. The old oaks in the spinney woods nearby have filled in the spaces between their long limbs with eye popping emerald. The oaks, silver maples, tulip poplars, and birches have exploded from the inside out.
When did this happen? How did I just notice the vibrancy of green everywhere on the ground and covering most of the skyscape where only soft gray is peaking through the trees. There’s a calming, serene feeling I get from simply observing this dazzling green. I stop my computer work and look. I fall happily into a trance, contentedly mesmerized.
That’s when I notice the dogwood in my yard. Appearing overnight is a canopy of white, hundreds of individual blossoms with four bracts and yellow green at its cross-section. Surely, it’s a sign that winter is over. I get up and walk outside.
As I look around, something inside me is clearly remembering my childhood when I climbed sturdy branches ascending like a ladder higher into the arms of an ancient pine tree. In this happy daydream I ask myself why I am so magnetized by this brilliant green. The question reaches deep inside. Sometimes it’s like that. Something draws our attention and holds on.
I once held on just like that to the tall elder trees. I remember having a connection to them. I sat in silence, high above the ground, waiting in anticipation. In the space of that memory I feel inner calm, as well as the serenity of the green.
I wonder, like the once bare branches is there something inside blossoming and revealing itself.
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