Green

My family is visiting over the weekend. Yesterday we played a game called "Chat Pack" which consists only of small cards, each with a question written on it. It's less a game, more a way to induce discussion. We took turns asking a question and each of us offered our answer and, as families often do, expounded enthusiastically. One of the questions was:

If you could wake up every morning, open your bedroom blinds, and look out a huge glass window at the perfect view, what would that view be?

My bed faces our backyard. When my eyes open I see the riches of whatever the season has to offer. For the past few months, with morning haze in my eyes, it is an abstract painting perhaps entitled "Variations on Green." I savor this lush scene, knowing that when I move to New Mexico this is not going to be the case.

When summer dissolves into autumn, I often witness a display of falling carroty leaves taking serendipitous turns before gingerly settling onto the ground.

And winter, my favorite season of all, turns the scene into white upon white upon white.

Anyway, my answer to the question is this: I love seeing whatever there is to see. When I travel it is someone's garden, a body of water, a car parked in the street or even a stark brick wall. It doesn't matter what it is, I'm so grateful to be alive, to take in what I observe and appreciate what life offers every single day.