Thursday, January 19, 2006
Back east, even in times when water was scarce, things stayed pretty green. In the height of August the trees and grass might crisp a bit, but certainly in the spring New England rivals the deep, lush green of its namesake (okay, I've not yet been to Ireland, so by my lights Great Britain--particularly Wales--is pretty damned emerald). Hereabouts, the landscape is generally sere; you get so used to the hills being a pale brown that when the winter rains begin and everything turns green it's startling and magical. The speed with which this happens is amazing: one day, everything is paper-bag brown; the next day the hills and parks are a lush, velvety green, as if the land itself is so grateful for water that it has to give something back. It's definitely a thing to like.