Month In Spring Work <Mobile>

And then—the green. Oh, the green. It arrives overnight, it seems. One morning you look across the valley and the trees are still gray twigs. The next morning, they are wrapped in a haze the color of pistachio. This is the famous "spring green," a shade that painters have tried and failed to capture for centuries. It is not a color so much as an event. It is the sound of chlorophyll rushing through a trillion tiny veins. It is the planet holding its breath and then letting it out all at once. The bird feeders, neglected all winter, suddenly become battlefields. The goldfinches are losing their olive drab for buttercup yellow. The juncos, those snowbirds, are packing their bags for the north, and in their place come the newcomers: the phoebe, pumping its tail on a fence post; the kinglet with its jewel-like crown; and finally, the herald of everything good, the song sparrow, singing from the highest branch of the lilac bush.

April is not perfect. But it is the month when everything becomes possible again. And in a world that so often asks us to be certain, to be finished, to be done—that possibility is its own kind of perfection. month in spring

Go outside. The door is open. The mud is deep. And the world, for the first time in months, is waking up. And then—the green