Day 336: I've had out-of-state friends tell me that all the green in Washington makes them feel claustrophobic. Claustrophobic? Really? I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a place which is not green, and especially one where man-made colours leap at you at every turn. Green is meditative, placid. It soothes and restores even while it beckons the eye to pick out individual shades. One can never grow tired of greens. There are too many to ever be boring, from the rich, deep forest-green of shadowed ferns and mosses to the light spring-greens of new alder leaves, from the grey-greens of lichens to the blue-greens of river water flowing through a wooded canyon. I look out my window and see hundreds of greens along the margin where pasture meets forest, no two exactly alike. How can that inspire claustrophobia? It makes me want to go exploring to see how many more greens I can discover in my lifetime.
I love the Northwest but grew up in Nebraska among prairie grass, wind, blue skies, towering cumulus, and brilliant lightning. When I went to Michigan for school I felt the claustrophobia mentioned by your friend. When you can't see the forest for all the trees it's hard to breathe when you're used to prairie spaces and prairie air.
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