While driving over to meet some neighbors last evening, it was easy to notice that the hills now sport every depth and shade of green we get around here. If one looks closely, the tops of the highest hills still reflect the pale green of very early Spring; the pines on the slopes and valleys show the deepest, richest green of the year.
There has been more observable change in the last two weeks than in the last two months. For weeks on end after the ski season, the cold kept everything at bay. Nothing seemed to be growing; not the grass, not the buds, nothing.
Then, in the space of one week everything seemed to burst forward at once. One day the grass didn’t need to be cut, two days later, it was already too long. Columbine and Phlox, invisible seemingly days ago, have become tall, leggy and prominent.
The grape, apple and pear buds that kept themselves tightly wound, steeled against the cold weather, have unwrapped, flowered; some have begun to show the infant fruit that will continue to grow for the next several weeks.
While chatting with the neighbors, a glance past the deck showed that there was just enough of a breath in the twilight to softly disrupt the surface of Lake Alice so it was no longer mirrorlike.
Rather than reflecting a perfect image of the surrounding hills, the lake surface canvassed an impressionistic interpretation of the evening scenery every bit as compelling as a Monet or Renoir.
Sitting amongst friends with gentle conversation interspersed with comfortable laughter, immersed in such beauty, the question was posed, but remained unanswered “How much different can Heaven be?”