Green is the color of poetic words about change and new life and growth. I always look forward to spring, but I’m learning to be poetic about the brown of winter, the blue of frost, the grey-for-days sky of mid-November.
We rode our bikes through the forest yesterday – just my husband and I. All the kids were at practices or watching games and it was just us, grey like the November coming but budding fresh green inside as we burned legs up the gravel road.
We fried muscle tissue we hadn’t felt for awhile, muscles untouched by our regular runs or even the weight room. Muscles we forgot about.
The green of the forest was a surprise in this drought. We wait for rain and I wait for green again, for crunchy grass to resurrect; but in the forest the green holds, ferns verdant on the hill under the old trees and mossy infants holding tight.
The creek-bed was dry as dust but all that green – you know it means deep down, where roots reach for a hold, there is water. There is life. There is something to quench the bosky hillside and hold the green out for hope.
Lately I wonder about the future, about how my time will fill when the nest is empty and the hours must be redirected.
Deep-down-running, we have life beyond dry seasons and busy seasons and chase-the-kids-everywhere seasons. A married life, rich and rooted in deep wells, makes it through long summers, enjoys the greying, always proves the green of life.
This post is part of Five Minute Friday, where we write freely for five on the given prompt. This week’s prompt is GREEN.