I was on the train on my way home and saw the sun break through the clouds. It made the grass so bright green that I grabbed my camera and started snapping pictures through the grubby glass of the train window.
When I looked at the pictures on my computer just now I thought to myself: the grass is so green, and bright, yet the trees are still etched against the sky, like in winter.
And then this line jumped through my head, “These trees don’t know it’s spring yet.”
I felt like crying but I didn’t know why.
I kept staring at the picture, trying to find words, maybe a poem that explained that one line.
Then my mind said, “It is like having a winter depression. Some years you are the green grass, basking in the sun in May and not having a care in the world. Some years it takes you a while to see it’s spring.”
I suddenly felt so grateful that this year, for the first time in ages, I am the grass.