Meditations on Green

I hardly realised how many shades and shapes and scents of green there are. New growth is everywhere.

The soft sage spears of lavender against older grey, disdaining much of a show, knowing the perfect gentleness and modesty of the fragrant flowers to come.

The casual green of honeysuckle shoots, the oval leaves plotting to scramble fast and take over the world.

The sharp, pointy, neon green of young ivy, loud amid the crowd of older leaves, like all teenagers wanting to assert their individuality. “I will not be like you!” they protest.

The majestic, pungent weight of rosemary spears, already showing a smattering of flowers. In dignity mindful of those medieval legends: the flowers white until the Virgin spread her blue cloak upon its ancestor in Egypt; it never grows greater than the height of Christ the man on earth. Rosemary for remembrance.

If I stand very, very still, I hear roots stirring in the earth, seeking water. I hear the splitting of old wood as new green struggles into the light.

Hurry now, hurry, it is the season for growth.