The green


The depth of green, the weight of it. Even a city boy would notice its heaviness; especially a city boy would notice, because it didn’t belong anywhere else. There might be beauty in glass and steel and in the burnt offerings of things, but it was a poor imitation to that heavy greenness. And when the creek ran clean and deep, you could see the froth and tumble of all those million shades sluice down from the leaves and the marsh grasses into an ever-widening swash. It was like something you would find in a brilliant dream, and you could hide in that immersive color for as long as you needed, and no one would ever find you.

20 thoughts on “The green

  1. Fantastic piece, Steve. I’m like Diana- I was fortunate to have grown up in the green. Even as a kid, I knew it was a gift. I’m reminded of the best of that time through your words…

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks K’lee. My grandmother had a small backyard garden many moons ago, and I loved it. Very small, but I remember the smell of fresh mint and huge hydrangeas. It was the most perfect spot and it felt like a completely different world.

      Liked by 1 person

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