Summer Green

When the snow first melted, the grass was a very particular, vivid sort of emerald green. And when the leaves finally came out on the trees, in whatever it was, like late May, they were that same emerald colour so the whole world was this vivid jewelbox green. And I realized why there's a town called Spring Green just outside of Madison, it must be in tribute to this wonderful Wisconsin phenomenon.

Just about three days ago, it changed to summer. Everything is now a darker green, like an old leaf, a spinachy colour instead of a jewel. I noticed it one night when I left work (in the bright sunshine, the sun ridiculously high in the sky for it being that late at night), there was a different feel to the breeze and a different smell, a kind of spicy smell.

Summer is when I always came to Wisconsin in my childhood, so the place I remember was permanently like that - that same green colour, humid heaviness in the air, spicy smell, insect sound.

When it was still spring here, the world was like an adolescent - leaves and grass like a big summer, sure, but amorphous and still a bit unformed. Trying hard to be a summer but new at it. Now, the season has finally matured into itself. It's like the season has graduated from college and landed a good job on the production staff of a national news bureau, working out of New York City. It's like the season has a photo of it's new, confident self in the college Alumni Bulletin, still a bit fresh of face and babyish of cheek, but it knows itself and is confident in its accomplishments.