Green on green, with grace
I used to get bored by green. Come summertime in New England, there was so much green I hardly noticed it.
It changed this year.
During our snow-filled winter, I saw very little I wanted to shoot: there was very little contrast in the whites and everything felt two-dimensional. I took long walks with the camera, begging for something to capture my eye. And I found trees. The graceful, textured, and startling limbs of grandmother oaks and maples were stark against that ever-present snow.
As the long-delayed spring danced hesitantly into our presence, swelling buds and baby green leaves added to the grace of branches: more to look at. A raucous conversation of yellows and greens soon engulfed the trees and I kept looking, more and more intently.
My camera and I saw more shades of yellow and green than I imagined existed. They’d always been there, of course, but this time I had followed their emergence from the trees’ bare branches from the start and I was graced with a clear awareness of this infinite garden of green.
Being bored is a stance I need not assume. There’s always more to see than I imagine.
No comments posted.