In the spring, I fall in love with green.
Well, maybe that’s not the right term. I always love green. It’s my favourite colour. But in the spring, what I feel for green borders on lust. I hold my breath waiting for the first tiny leaves to appear on the trees, and when they all open up, I get drunk on the colour. It makes me giddy.
By July, though, I’m like, “Yeah, green. Green’s great.” I still love it, but that thrill’s gone. In August I realize that I’m in the mood for something more autumnal.
In the autumn, my list of favourite trees gets switched around (you all have one of those, right?). Aspens top the list in the summer, just for the way their leaves twinkle in the slightest breeze. Other leaves blow or rustle or flap. Aspen leaves FREAKING TWINKLE. It’s like magic, I swear. Looks like a huge flock of green butterflies are clinging to the branches. Come fall, though, maples top the list. When the first hints of red start lighting up the tips of their branches and the inner leaves are still green, I can’t think of any plant that’s more beautiful. And then they turn that deep crimson, and some of them go to burgundy… Gets me every time.
^Early autumn aspens (and some other trees)
^The only red tree I could find on my walk this morning.
Birches are number two year-round. They’re just so pretty with their black-scarred white trunks and that perfect green on their leaves. In the fall they turn the most incredible shade of yellow, bright and warm and so amazing against a blue sky.
I have no picture of a birch. I’ll have to fix that. (Seriously, where my birches at?)
I choose to believe that my changing preferences aren’t a sign of fickleness, but of an appreciation for the beauty and novelty that nature provides… because otherwise I’m just cheating on my favourite colour, and that’s just not cool.