Busy bees we are. With Spring sprung and ants in the kitchen, there seems always a race. A steady buzz - wax paper folded over comb, we press our lips against and hum. Something is coming. Along with slug season, coy pinks, dangerous yellows and the farmers market, there slips in a notion of promise. Soon the wind will sweep the avenues bringing a snow storm of blushed plum blossoms that will cling to our shoes, holding on. While the hues are almost delicate, shaded - a richness envelopes and becomes anticipation. Waiting in this verdant landscape, is a tempest in a teapot. What is simply green to some, is to me, an almost surreal abundance of color all in the name of green. I am a child of this place and I am feeling my absence from the woods. I have not walked through ferns and fans of Columbine in far too long. While I may not be able to reach my favorite trails today or make the long drive to the coastal forest, I may just take a walk in some damp wooded park. Somewhere where there is a quiet riot of new growth and moss in colors that simply make you take pause.