Right now there is nothing but green. Sure, there are flowers in gardens, but when you walk in the woods, it’s just green. There are a few specks of color–smart weeds blooming, a dragonfly that zips by, the bright crimson of the wineberries that are ripe right now–but these are tiny variations in the canvas of green. I think this part of the summer, its stillness and lack of variation, is similar to the middle of winter, when all you see is the white of snow (if you’re lucky) or the gray brown landscape (without snow).
Walking in this green world is, in my opinion, the hardest time of year in which to walk. There is no chance to stop, unless you want to be descended upon by flies. The deer fly is a task master, and the clouds of gnats, its minions. The heat and humidity are thick. You must stay on the path–there is no deviating, as the undergrowth is dense. Snakes abound slithering through the dark brush. One place where I walk is thick with hay-scented fern, endless hip-high thickets of luminescent lime green as far as the eye can see. The ferns are happy this year, closing in on the path through them, seemingly close to swallowing it up. Right now, it’s all about the green.