Greta Thunberg

I remember green. 

The colour of life. 
The colour of naivety. 
Of joyful exploration. 
Of vitality and nature. 

Take Rosemary: the wiry sprig of nasal fog. 
Open, like the relief of an unblocked nose 
Assaulted by the smokey tone of the herb, 
Punching the clear shot to the brain.

Feel powerful, deep green 
That shimmered at Thiepval field, 
Iridescent as the zephyr that sprawls through, 
It bows before the writhed eye of the sun.

The drizzling richness of the silky pressed Olive oil sliding 
Over the ripe lettuce leaf, glazed with 
The summer dew: the base of the 
Tossed salad with the tomato, basil and mozzarella.  

The trees mumble and shoot the breeze,
Ascending further into the crown. Hear the gossiping leaves,
Deep in treacly rumours about forfeited stretching and 
Lost yawning and overslept branches in absent spring.

Crumbs, salty, with rich tang and sweet bite, 
Tumble over the frosting twinkle of the 
Scooped ball of ice cream, the pistachio  
Nuggets sliding into melting portion.  

The pea green of growing salty ocean caressing the beaded shoreline, 
The billowing Kraken breath of the sea
Sailing in on the tide to chase away any trace of briny scent at 
Summer picnics in the foothills of flowing dune mountains. 

The fruit bowl hosting the huddle of green spotted 
Granny Smiths, ripe, like a pregnant pause, 
Aching to be crunched to a tart blast rippling 
Across the tongue.  

The pastel green of the last jade tiger, 
Prowling a mantelpiece,
Coiled to strike at the unwary,
Stalked by the perpetual tick of the clock. 

The fresh lime zest zinging a jet of juice, 
Straight from the squeeze, across the spicy 
Aroma of the Thai green curry, 
The chillies and holy basil fusing in memory. 

A mystery of the still twinkling emeralds 
Set in gold band eternal upon the clasped bony finger 
Of the long loved wife in celebration of the longer loving 
Years of companionship held together in the aether. 

The glisten of garden mint leaves ground under pestle,
Lifting the nose as its explosive bouquet 
Mingles with the tingle of vinegar, wringing glorious 
Salivation in anticipation of dreamy roast lamb, potatoes and gravy. 

The lulling roll of the ferns, like giant silk fans, 
Swaying in the fresh air of the forest floor, a Doe nestled 
Deep within, milky eyed, curiously peering from the 
Protection of the glade at the approaching pyre. 

A disguised log, green, with ridges and teeth, 
Ripping up the rising river into furious foam, 
With smashing tail whipping to ambush 
The fording Zebra in deepest Africa. 

Soft pillows of moss clumped like fat monks, 
Nestling in drunken slumber upon the slick roof tiles, 
Reaching out with the prickled nubs of their snail eye 
Calyptra, slaughtered in the dissolution. 

That land that is green and smiling, 
Its wide grin constant, despite the rain, 
Fuelling a flourish of emerald Shamrocks 
Across the fields, furlongs and country lanes. 

Nature, revealed in the flash of green, 
Is dispatched, draped in the standard of dust,
And across these sceptred lands, now bowed 
By unverdant arc-en-ciel, we lament our perished hue. 

I'll always remember green. 

J. R. R. Tolkien, English author, poet and academic, who wrote The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarillion, was born today in 1892.

Greta Thunberg, Swedish environmental activist on Climate Change, was born today in 2003.

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