Lush

So much green
on this new spring
morning.
I breathe deep
the freshness,
let its tenderness
nourish and heal
whatever is wounded
inside.

How is it that
we have just one word
for green
when its tones and textures
are infinite
at this time of year?

What shall we name
the deep richness
of the Virginia Creeper
that covers the fence?
Or its pale and delicate
new growth
winding upward?

Which word describes
the way dawn’s light
touches every leaf
of the leatherwood
differently
and how each surface
looks like an open palm
reaching,
trembling in the breeze,
silently begging me
to accept
the gift
of this day?

By Maria Brady-Smith

Photo by Mike Smith