I was looking for green.
Not just any any green, not the kind you find on football fields or in a can of exterior house paint.
I was looking for the wild green that speaks of earthy fragrance, butterflies and crickets. The kind of green that smells like fireflies and sings softer than a whistle at the brush of a wind.
The green hair of the planet earth, long and flowing, a cushion, a downy bed.
I was looking for a place to throw off my shoes and let the tender spikes of green tickle my toes and cool my feet.
A meadow. A creekside. A mountain summit. Green is home.