change · laughter · life · self-care

Red Light, Green Light, One Two Three

Remember that game? It was a schoolyard game when I was a
kid, and I recalled the above phrase as I was folding my new hand and dish
towels onto their rack in my kitchen yesterday afternoon.
I took down my red towels, and put up my new green ones. Spring,
country, moss-colored luxury. Red light = Stop. Green light = Go. It felt
rather metaphorical.
I’d bought the red ones several years ago for my last
apartment, to go with the black, white, and red theme I wanted to have. And I carried
them with me to this apartment. But, yesterday as I stood in the abundant
radiance of Bed Bath & Beyond… I was attracted to the green. Apparently,
with my few other purchases yesterday, I am moving from that former color scheme
to a new one in my kitchen: mossy green, blond wood, and white. I like it.
It feels like spring. It also feels like change.
To me, the red now feels stark, instead of sexy or modern as
it used to. The green feels soft, and cozy, and just a bit cheeky, like it’s
about to tell you the punch line to a roll-your-eyes joke.
Last year around this time, I was invited to read some
poetry of mine at a friend’s art show opening. At the time, I was in the thick
of the awfulness of break-up land, and would rather slice my eyeballs with a
razor than produce art. For me, art is a product of health and at least some
healthy passion – be that anger, joy, or even contentment. As it was, I was
quite depressed and lethargic, and “producing” anything felt like a Herculean
effort. But I agreed.
During that time, as I was aware that I was not in any mood
to create, that I was still in the contracted, inverted phase of winter, I
noticed the copse of tall trees that I see out my kitchen window. Every day I
see them as I write my morning pages, tall over the building next door, at
least a hundred feet tall, and observe them going through the seasons of the
year.
One of those March mornings, I noticed the trees were
beginning to bud. I gasped. I’m not ready!
I’m not ready for production, expansion, greenery. I want stark, barren,
lifeless.
But, bud the trees did, and read poetry I did.
This week, I got an email from a woman at school inviting me to again participate in their annual open mic at the end of the month. And this year as I watch the trees begin to bud again, bolstered by their augur of Spring, I identify with their quiet expansion, and I
answer, yes.
I can’t wait to see what I’ll write. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s