It is one of the major miracles, how bit by bit, in tiny increments, the encircling trees turn green. It has happened this week over two days: when mother and I took our walk on Friday before she flew to California, we were commenting on how there were no leaves yet, maybe a distant weeping willing. Lots of yellow, daffodils and the late forsythia, but dark tree limbs, just a little reddish brown on the tips. Then Sunday, a little scumble of pale green in a few places. Yesterday, Monday, the scumble was general, and today there is a whole precise variety: the cherry tree is white; the big oak tree on the next row of houses is light green, a nearby trash tree has lots of bright green, the apple tree has little gray green points on each branch and twig. By this time next week, there will be a canopy.
Why isn't this enough for happiness?
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