Nothing displays the virtue of the color green as the season of spring.
Lime green leaves on deciduous trees will turn tomato red come fall. The tips of the forest-green spruce are chartreuse green. The weak-limbed weeping willow trails two-story lacy chains of pale green. Stalwart green spikes hold fading daffodils, and even the most unkempt lawn is verdant.
Green pushes up from the soil and emerges from the branches hanging above. The greening of the distant treeline allows even ancient half-dead trees to put on a show.
The green is on the land, for a precious few days. Suspended in the air, floating in the shifting light, low clouds, and mist. The birds sing of it, and the hidden frogs pipe its dance in ponds and swales.
Passing too quickly, a few eternal moments, and then gone for another year.
Shouldn't...but Do 