Today’s prompt: Set your timer. Choose any color. Let your mind follow that color to a memory, or a scene, or a story of any kind. Put your hand to the page and begin.
Green. I choose green. You weren’t very old when I realized that you had one and a half blue eyes and a half green eye. I joked that of course you did, since the freckles and bright red hair didn’t give you enough character. That partly-green eye was fascinating and perfectly unique, just like you. Green.
Green, like the trees you loved and studied, tended and protected. Green like the acres of forest you hiked, searching for meaning and peace. Purpose. Green, like the mountains you chased, talking to God and trying to understand. Green, like the dozens of trees planted in your memory. Green, Cooper, like the grass below you, cedar tree above you, and pasture before you when you saw your last sight.
In my mind, you chose that spot because it was peaceful, beautiful, and green. A calm and quiet place to sit at the base of a tree, write your last words, and think your last thoughts. In your note, you said that cemetery held no meaning for you; you just liked that cedar. Oddly, I understand your reasoning. You picked a lovely spot to die.
In a few months, this part of the world will turn green again, and I know I’ll think of you and miss you; thinking of you and missing you are constant. Springtime in the timber has always been some of the best time for our family. We spend hours together wandering through the trees in search of treasures. This year, I’ll look for you in the whispers of green and see you as the dormant becomes lush. You are my treasure. I will look for you in life.
Woods Writes 