Spring is an odd progression. It comes phase after blooming phase, a transition that overlaps so much with winter that it becomes almost impossible to tell when it really begins. Right now, the magnolia trees are full of blossoms and a few other trees here and there show their buds in various shades of bright green. Others are still as bare as ever, with no sign of their seasonal green peeking through yet. The change happens so slowly, it is easy to miss the moments when it first starts to show.
Waves of autumn leaves turn from colors to brittle browns, fallen onto sidewalks and park grass to be crunched under the feet of many pedestrians. When all the trees are brown and baring their branches for the snow to gather on, some are late. A few deciduous trees remain a slowly dulling green well into fall, weeks behind their happily cycling kin. Is it simple resistance to the inevitable? We know that these same trees must lose their green to create fresh leaves in the spring. Is it pointless stubbornness, or are these tardily green trees holding onto life with their last shreds of will?
Will I be one of these, clinging to what vibrance I have left, or will I give in to the cold, becoming bare and unprotected? I would rather stay green.