Green

I watch as sunlight spotlights a field on the other side of the small valley, turning it from grass and trees to liquid delight. If I look away for a moment, by the time I look back, the sun has moved its love to the next pasture.

This Asturian sun is an aloof, moody, and passionate lover who would never leave a toothbrush in anyone’s drawer. One minute it’s fervently hot and focused, but the next, it’s already eyeing the next green field over, unashamedly leaving all past lovers longingly waiting for more.

I must say that I do an injustice to the landscape by merely calling it “green.” Green is so often reduced to a two-dimensional sense of the word. What I’m experiencing is a multidimensional Green, one that has 3-D form, yes, but also one that encompasses an array of varying textures, patterns, distances, and lightings of the valley before me. It’s also a Green that changes from one moment to the next, and I can’t seem to look away.

As Tom Robbins would say, it’s so “vivid” here, and I think it’s because everything feels so ALIVE. From the patches of wildflowers and the snails gliding up the roses to the sounds of eternal cowbells and birdsongs, this is a Green that includes uncountable lives. And it wouldn’t exist so verdantly if it weren’t for the keystone element that allows it all to thrive: water. This is probably obvious to a person who hasn’t lived in a desert their entire life, but to me, the rain is a spectacle. I also have a greater appreciation for how precious and life-giving the rain, dew, mist, and fog are here—the green cannot exist without its enduring partnership with the rain. And as much as I love the rain, my desert heart glows with joy-light when the clouds part to reveal a little blue sky that lets the sun-light caress the hills. I have a feeling that the Green also lives in patient anticipation for next one-night stand with the sun.