Saturday

Cellophane Green


Like all lovers in the first days of embrace I have watched for every new movement that says Spring.  First were the snowdrops followed by crocus followed by the irrepressibly joyful daffodil.  Then an almost imperceptible loosening of bound redbuds into first leaves.   All accompanied by Vivaldi birdsong.  Frogs have returned to the pond and laid masses of bubble wrapped eggs. Inside each small sac a black comma punctuates the promise of a daughter frog or a son frog.  Or maybe even a great-grandson of the frog I kissed so many years ago.

And now another sign of our beloved.  She has strewn the first of the cellophane grasses by the roadside.  I glimpsed them driving home yesterday.  There is a certain light at a certain time of year that turns the more moderate greens of verge grasses into the green of an easter basket's cellophane lining.  This cellophane green glimmers, shimmers and shines our beloved's return to yet another year in this irrevocably 21st century world.

In the medieval world of 1213 there were many foolishnesses I'm sure.  After all, humankind occupied those years.  All the same, plastic grass would not have been part of their particular fooleries of this I'm certain.  But equally certain that a glassy glimmer in the grass caught a woman's eye who smiled and was also made glad by yet another sign...of Spring:  cellophane green.