A world of happenings
not things
As I sit this afternoon, the leaves of the maple trees seem to be unfurling in increments, each slow movement of a warming sun infusing the leaves with life. To unfurl—to unbind, unchain, unfold. There is a slow, soft unbinding in these spring days—a sense as I step outside without the need for a coat, without an adjustment in the body to a slightly cooler open air that has been intermittent in the last winter-held weeks. We step out of doors and feel we too can follow the trees’ lead and unfurl, find something green within ourselves, to respond in kind.
Green—to grow, the color of living plants. When the Artemis II crew was bobbing in the ocean after careening from weightlessness to intense gravity, causing flame around them as they flew through the atmosphere, the ground crew asked how the crew fared during their return to earth. The commander responded “doing great, we’re all green.” The ground crew had to explain that they weren’t sick green, but w…
