Walking is always nice, relaxing, a way to think thoughts that are not about cold or mud.
But walking in fresh summer is the best walking. The grass is green, greener than you recall. Flowers and wild plants are taking over, grabbing your attention, making you appreciate them all over again.
Is it my imagination, or is the green this spring greener than last year? Or the year before?
Must be my imagination. Unless it’s not.
The green is so striking that it almost knocks me off the trail. But not quite. Actually all that green keeps me on the trail and pulls at my eyes to all the green that’s not on the trail.
Green, green, green.
I grab the camera and take a few shots of that green. Next winter I’ll look at the pictures of green. Will that green seem as green as it does now?
For now, I keep pausing to take in all that green.
Even the ground of the trail itself is green. Tiny green plants cover it.
I glance out into the woods. Is that an animal? No, it’s just more green.
I remember the summer I walked on a path in Acadia National Park, a northern path, right out at the edge of everything. I came to a slight depression in the path, and there was a big turtle. It was nearly a foot across. It surprised me so much, my mind left the green for a minute or so. This guy was so big, and right in the middle of the path, I had to step off the path to get around him.
For the few seconds I watched it; at least I wasn’t seeing green. There was green on the edge of the path, where I had to walk to not step around it.
On another occasion, I saw a doe and her fawn. I had just stepped out of the dark woods onto the edge of the green field. There she was, the doe, standing still and watching me. She carefully stepped kind of to the side, her fawn following. She entered the woods about 100 feet from me.
And she left behind all that green of the field.
Sometimes the green is so green I just stop and stare. It is so green.
I’m looking out the study window now. At the grass, which is so green. This year even the trees seem especially green to me.
There must be a song I can sing.
About all that green.
Milt Gross can be reached for corrections, harassment, or other purposes at lesstraveledway@roadrunner.com.
