Green is the colour of the day.  Left by last night's torrential rains, blown in by winds gathered in the great oak greenery of the southern coast. Wind that had a seemingly endless breath.  A wind breathing green.

Once I fancied a language of colour.  Not made to describe colour but rather a language belonging to red, to blue, to yellow. Green.  Not the stubborn green of traffic light's go but rather a leaf's dialect, if you will.

If you will...what?  Embrace a bit of foolishness for a small moment?  A brief moment of fancy bulwarks my day occasionally against the relentless press of one number demanding the next then the next. On and on.  A moment in which I might move away from the photograph, glimpsed on a news site page, that restored to full any nihlistic tendency that may have become slightly diminished since the previous glimpse.

A moment when the chartruse greenery of spring trumps all other realities. Stepping into this morning's soaked limes, stepping into the softness of celadon merging with emerald glory, I understood the power of that which cannot be photographed, cannot be translated, cannot be bought and sold into existence.

I, for the briefest moment, understood Other.  Life beyond the great swath of meanings we struggle to arrange across our days.  Life beyond the inventories that never leave us ever.  Cause and effect be damned this morning.  The night's wild wind brought in full what spring's first heat started.  Green.