Today’s post is inspired by The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lookin’ Out My Back Door.”
[Aug. 2 – Update: The vines and bush were cut away a few days after I finished writing this post.]
Not much sunlight comes through this window. And what light does is obscured by the wall of green covering half the pane. You can’t really tell when it’s a gorgeous day out. You can definitely tell when it’s a shit day. Everything just looks and feels that much darker.
Despite the green of it all, it’s quite a view. It’s like looking at a Pantone book of green hues. Quick, what’s the Pantone number to this vine compared to its leaves?
The vines creeping up along the window have a translucence about them. The shadows of darker greens as the leaves overlap one another in the light, and the vine stems a solid block of a black-like silhouette no matter how you look at them, or when.
Sometimes, if you’re just looking at the fine details of the vines, you can see the silhouette of an ant. Then you realize there’s a bunch of ants crawling everywhere and you shiver in a strange emotional mix of intrigue and being grossed out. Oh hey, a baby praying mantis!
You look out a layer further, beyond the vines, and see this bush… a tree? A bush-tree. The key here is: it’s green. More green in your face, but not the elegant translucence you find with the vine. This one is more prickly, harsh, ragged around the edges.
Oddly, unlike the vine which suggests a soul-sucking or life-sucking nature, this prickly, ragged bush-tree exhibits a kind of life. It’s quite irregular in shape, with the bulk of its body in a weird oval shape, but with random… fronds, shall we call them? or arms… poking up out of the top. It’s weird. But birds hide in it. Rabbits hide in it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there are instances of snakes hiding in it. Definitely salamanders and other lizard-like animals are hiding in there too.
Then your focus shifts to these cattail-like plants. Plop! Randomly located in the middle part of this green rug of a mossy grass that is the backyard of this home. Nothing spectacular, except perhaps it’s randomness. It’s almost like there should be a small creek running nearby but no. Just these wispy, long green blades—and I mean long. Like 6 feet long—with wispier brown seedling-flowery tops. They remind me of willow trees, swinging gently in the breeze. The green has a slightly whiter tinge to them and as you stare out the window, you begin to notice a wasp crawling around the window screen. And it’s between the glass and screen… so don’t open that window!
And beyond this random grouping of the wispy plants is the tree line: a dark, foresty green. Some with tinges of a brighter green, a tinge of yellow or orange, and a tinge of black. The forest. The ominous trees towering over everything else within your sight line, obscuring the sky—which is why it always looks dark sitting at this dining room table.
The contrast between the immediate field of green and this distanced green is stark. Broken up only by the gray of the empty flagpole, and the burnt-yellowishness of the barn out back.
There’s so much life in all this green, yet you hardly ever witness it. You just know it’s there. The lifeblood that is the color green during the summer, slowly turning into a dead color with the eventual approach of fall. Then winter. Only for the cycle to start up again the following spring.
Green. That’s what I spy outside this window.