May

May in Seattle is as green as the greenest green. If you see the color Kelly green when you read that, you are partially right. But add more greens: wet grass green during a rainy spring day. The way green looks as the sunlight hits it at 7pm, just as the light starts to dim. Can you feel night walking in, the way night walks in as the days lengthen?

I mean as May starts folding into June. As the days reach their perfection, culminating in the summer solstice.

May is green. May is rain, almost every day. May is waiting for June. May is waiting for my new job to start in June. May is anticipation and arrival. The way my Annie arrives home after 4 days away, older, taller, more independent. The way she sings, happy, unfurling into more of herself every day.

Have you ever had the good fortune of watching a person unfold day after day, more sure stepped as time goes by?

I remind myself that I, too, am unfolding, more sure of myself every day. I have the tendency to think the best days are behind me, scared as my kids reach toward independence. But the days stretch open: who knows what will happen?

The days are green and saturated by spring rain. When it isn’t raining and the sun soaks into my skin, I feel tree pollen surrounding me. I am full sneeze and awake, moving through May. Full green, taking in every shade of green available; its range is beautiful. Green: green. Green invites me into the future and pulls me toward June’s newness. With tenderness.

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