There were two colors in my 64-pack of Crayola crayons that I wouldn’t touch as a kid: raw umber and spring green. In my world of Poky Little Puppy coloring books and stained “glass” art projects, these two hues had no place in my world. Their tips would remain snub-nosed while the remaining 62 would get peeled and sharpened, peeled and sharpened, until they disappeared into the depths of the box.
As an adult, having lived through nearly 40 long New England winters, I’ve grown to love that pop of spring green that one April day just dots the tips of the trees. And then, just a few days later, when those little dots unfurl into something so vibrant, so graceful, and so celebratory—that day, that moment, is one of my absolute favorites of the entire year.
Driving home from work, there’s a stretch of conservation land where the oak trees are so mighty that they form a canopy over the street. Earlier this week, as I drove through this tunnel of oaks, the 6:15 p.m. late-April sunlight cast a hazy glow on each and every one of those unfurling buds. I heeded the glowing yellow light that had engulfed me and slowed down. Way down. Mother Nature was operating this traffic light, and the sight was too splendid to just blow straight on through.
In this world of get-it-done-and-make-it-snappy mindsets, it’s important to remember that good things take some time. Whether it’s waiting for winter to make its exit, a relationship to develop its sweet spot, hard work to pay off, or a dream to come true, a willingness to slow down and to put a little faith in the nature of things will often do the trick.
