Spring Sunshine (and a parenthesis)
New oak leaves don’t seem to be real. They possess the kind of luminescent, incandescent colour normally associated with artificial dyes, plastic toys and warning labels. The leaves are paper thin and soft, new born into a world of light and air and water. Born for the slow accumulation of sugar. The leaves emerge from sleepy winter buds to the wakening spring. Pressure builds within the buds one cell at a time. Division after division after division. Daughter after daughter after daughter. The old become new, the new age and bring forth more youth. Cell division is rapid, but controlled, the execution of a process whose failure we all fear. DNA, genes, proteins, and the coming of life. Not a celebration for the tree, just a response to stimuli I cannot feel. The leaf in the bud grows and expands until escape, until bud burst, is the only option. And at that point spring begins. And human celebrations begin with it. Flushed with energy drawn from the returning Sun the oaks