In his Mars Trilogy, a favorite author of mine
KIM STANLEY ROBINSON
describes how the various shades of green exert a
when they are finally spied in the wild on Mars.
I wonder if his inspiration was in any part
WINTER IN MARYLAND
where is seems we are so long under browns and whites of
or so it feels by the time Spring arrives.
I think of his colonists every year, at the
FIRST SIGN OF BLOSSOMS
and know with certainty that I empathize with their
at the end of the long rust and brown Winter.
The above is a little experiment with putting words together, making it possible (and obvious) to pull a much shorter (rhyming) poem from the lengthier verse and yet still retain most of the original meaning. Every Spring I fumble for the words to describe the joy I feel at seeing the trees and shrubs and grass (maybe not so much the grass) all waking up from their long sleep, and I believe that to truly comprehend my feeling you'll need to have read the Mars Trilogy (Red Mars, Green Mars, Blue Mars) by Kim Stanley Robinson.
Antarctica and A Memory of Whiteness make clever bookends to that trilogy, I think.
The story arc of the characters and their long Winter as they terraform the red planet, and the payoff they realize as their hyper-extended lives witness the fruits of their labor are adequate analogues for the depth of feeling I have going from the excitement of the first chill of autumn to the inherent sadness of a late January evening to the simple pleasure of a spring green as its reflected wavelengths seem to cut directly into the visual cortex without all that mucking about with rods, cones, or neurons. So what I'm trying to say is "Thank you, Mr. Robinson, for such great and inspirational stories."