Memories can be golden or green, among other colors. They can have music and dancing, or unforgettable aromas of youth. Sitting in the doctor’s waiting room with our daughter, the conversation roamed from logistics and topics of the moment, back to her childhood and ours touching also on our new shared delight who was sleeping blissfully among us. The golden glow of those moments mixed with the close smell of precious new baby.
Somehow it all has me drifting back to my daughter’s birth, and beyond to my earliest memories. So looking tonight at another photo from our flight evokes the memory of zipping past King City’s row of pungent eucalyptus in a flicker of sun and shade, lying on my back in the station wagon as the family drove along Highway 101. Wires rhythmically going up and down imitating waves over a sea of fields. Some brown, some green, in neat rows of crop cycles from planting to harvest in the endless California Summer. Birth and aging all blend into memories some day forgotten until the next crop invents new life following familiar patterns.
5307 Stages of Green
John & Anne Wiley 
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