We wait all winter for this green. Its soft surrounding murmur, it the pre thunder wind. It fills all the space below the sky. The wind shows the storms intention by blowing back to where the clouds are coming from. This green sings warm to me.
The balsams celebrate their new growth by letting the tips of branches shout a light bright green. Almost yellow. I saw a hawk swoop from one tree to another, a copper brown trail from green to green across a darker green behind. An oriole, orange, a cardinal red. Evidently there is no natural advantage in the temperate forest for a bird of green that matches the trees. Because there are none that do.
The songs and wind on leaves are all I need to hear to feel the warm. Like home, no matter where . The fuzz between earth and sky is a busy place. All the flavors, deciduous and coniferous , so many different hardwood leaves. All of them are thirsty for the sun. And sing like subtle angels breathing praise to the silent earth and sky. Green angels whisper praise.
This green sings warm to me.
Hawk swings his copper trail
From tree to tree to tree.
This breath sings green to me.
The angels sing softly
Inside the green lovely
Blind hearts dance silent
And move the leaves to sound.
Not too far off a chainsaw warns away all. Its not a sound that attracts a crowd. Summer days make sweaty work in that business. Something that dangerous needs that sound. Subtlety is not safety . I would just hope he tires quickly, and can stop before he takes too many, too much.
The temptation with chain saw work is to go at it non stop until all is done. The roar seems to encourage action to match it . But it is an authentically dangerous tool and you must always pay attention. When it stops , bird, animal and tree sounds come flooding back in. I think that will happen when humans make their total exit too. The sounds will be softer, filtered by the millions of new freed trees. Mosquitos and black flies will miss us.
