I am notorious for not noticing my surroundings. I can not remember for the life of me what a person I met or spoke to for an hour was wearing. In fact, I’d panic thinking I’d ever have to describe what my children were wearing if I lost them in the mall.
I can not remember what’s inside a house, the path I run on, the clothes I wear. I am totally oblivious to all of it.
There is one day a year I notice. Or it’s a day when I notice what everyone else already did.
It is a day when the green of the mountains greet me.
Suddenly the trees bloom with a plethora of green. The mountains that a day earlier were decorated with dried branches leaving empty spaces in between depict now a grandeur of color. And not any color, but a delicate shade of green. Not the tired green of summer, exhausted after hours of scalding sun, but a soft bright green eager to cuddle in the rays of a new sun.
It makes me smile reminding me life finds a way. There is renewal if we simply allow it even when we think all is lost. Even after the trees have seemingly died a new season begins.