Summer Green

What is this?

Did this happen overnight?

Yesterday nature was all sparse limbs and knotty buds like burls on the bark

Now it’s burst forth, all the naked grey of winter's end hidden in brightest

newness.

This shade used to be my favorite, the color of youth

So alive and soft with the promise of . . .

All that is not winter and cold and dead and depressed.

Now I find the young green is almost too much to bear.

Where I used to feast, I now steal glances.

Happiest in the knowledge of vernal existence,

No needing to hold onto or call it my own.

I have a deeper appreciation, now,

For the deepness of summer green.

Maturity not setting off the vertigo

Or rumblings of green unease

Of something eaten too soon, not quite ripened.

As I've matured so have my tastes.

My former aversion for the knowing,

Magicked forests of June and beyond

Has turned into preference

At peace and ease

In the lusciousness of later day greens and

The fullness of life beyond the blush and bud of first blooming.

I’ve found my fulfillment in the realization of potential,

Fruits fully bursting forth, ripening and reaching toward

The perfect sweetness of completion.