2011-04-30 - 1:19 a.m.
I am aware of the many kinds of green, but the green that is happening right here, right now, is best. I still like October's red, November's brown, December's gray and white, and July's black thunderclouds. But, of late, and maybe just this year, I've come to love the light green of spring, a green so elegant and delicate that it speaks only of fresh life. This green, it seems clear, gave birth to all the other kinds. This green is the alpha green.
Trees do not dominate here, rather it is concrete and cars and bass lines, but the ginkgoes shoot ever upwards, their leaves like fans and so newly green that you can almost see through them. The maples send out their spinners. The oaks form clusters of new leaves so fresh you could eat them, with garbanzo beans and a vinaigrette. The dogs, on leashes, smell it. The people, running their endless blocks, smell it, sniff it. The crows crow. The pigeons peck. The green cries, and sniffles, and yawns, and shouts. And I, let's hope, am finally listening.
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