One of my favorite days of the year has no name, doesn’t fall on the same date, isn’t celebrated, but never fails to change my outlook. It is the one day every year when the world turns from brown and grey to green. Today was that day in
I can still remember the first time I witnessed the annual color shift. I was standing in right field during baseball practice. If you have ever stood in right field during little league baseball practice you will understand why I was spacing out rather than watching the current batter at work – batting practice is like, no, worse than watching paint dry.
This particular right field happened to be hemmed in by mountains on all sides. Our mountains were always green at the bottom, skirted by evergreens, but the top half, above the tree-line, changed with the seasons. At that time of year (June) the white caps of winter has mostly melted away revealing the brown remains of last year’s tundra.
On that day I looked up in between unsuccessful swings of the bat and, as if someone had flipped a switch, the mountains were all green. Oh, so striking. I had this sensation of being full of optimism, and energy, like a drab veil had been lifted.
I love this day. I have loved this day the 40-some times I have seen it since my days as a Yankee. Today I witnessed it on my bike, not in right field. I saw little patches of wildflowers on the side of the road, construction sites beautified by over-enthusiastic weeds growing on piles of dirt, little fields of dark green, knee-high wheat, and cattle grazing in untidy, flower-speckled pastures.
On “Green Day” as the new growth overtakes the dead remnants of winter, I feel like I can too.
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