It's spring! She creeps in on little cat feet, leaving her tiny chartreuse paw prints scattered about.
When I look at the ridges near my home I think of French painter and Neo-impressionist Georges-Pierre Seurat. The great dabber. One of the chief practitioners of pointillism, Seurat’s canvases were made up of small distinct points of primary colors. Dabs, dabs, dabs of paint, tediously applied, one at a time, with the patience of Job. No bold, emotional brush stokes here. He was meticulous. A Seurat canvas didn't explode into existence, it tiptoed.
If Seurat had painted the hillside behind my house, he would have relied heavily on yellow and green, the two colors that are creeping over the landscape. The tuliptrees are the first to green up. Day by day. Hour by hour. Green returns after its five month hiatus.
Maybe we should have a "Welcome Home" party. I'll start working on the guest list. Could someone bake a cake?