On Green

Once, I looked up through a vast array of leaves. They were so dense they almost obscured the sky. Layers and layers of green, translucent from the light of the sun. Moving in the breeze. I remember, too, light pouring down through water -- making it glow a hazy emerald. The color of young grass, peeking out of muddy ground, lingers in memory as well. And the near-black green of seaweed, tossed and tangled on the beach.

Today, though, the most visible green is that of the pine trees, still frosted with white -- and framed by a scattering of snowflakes, gently drifting down.