Green, Greener, Greenest

In Williamsport,  Pennsylvania, we had a snowstorm in March that shut down schools, but almost immediately after the first official day of spring,  it was warm and sunny, and our daffodils began to bloom.

I am so eager for spring to arrive that I watch to see the first weeping willow begin to turn green, since that is an early sign of the departure of winter.

But, alas, they have not started to turn yet.

But as I sit in the passenger seat while my husband drives on the back roads, I watch the trees in the distance, ahead of our car.

I notice what seems to be a very pale green color on their bark.

But when we pass directly by them and I look out the window sideways at them, all I see is barren, wintry, leafless branches. 

I ask myself why trees in the distance seem to be greening, while these same trees looked at up close seem to have retained their barren winter coloration.

Is it wish fulfillment? I want to see green, so I do? I reject this thesis, however, because it seems counter to my rational nature.

I wonder if  there is green from evergreen trees and emerging grass that gives the trees reflected color.  But this seems physically impossible; the trees, after all, are not mirrors.

When we arrive home and park by our lilac bush, I hypothesize an  explanation.

Our lilac has buds developing but its branches are still brown and barren.

But way within the bush, the inner branches are covered with green moss.

I wonder if moss is responsible for the trees that have a tinge of green color to me.

If so, I  am delighted that even in the midst of a cold and dismal day, nature is readying herself for renewal.

And, if I am deluded and all of this is an optical illusion, then perhaps it’s a sign that my soul is greening itself in preparation for spring.