Yes, I know it’s April.

A gourd I grew a long time ago.

Never quite got to documenting the color for March until now, but I knew it was gold — the color of the dormant lawn emerging from under the snow, that one kind of oak that holds onto its leaves through winter,  all the other leaves, fallen, pressed flat by the weight of the snow. Lula’s fur, a lot of local granite, shed pine needles, my favorite earrings.

This kind of oak drops its leaves in the fall.


Gold shades effortlessly into other colors, like yellows and browns and delicious oranges, and it’s easy to get confused. Terra cotta, you are not gold.

Pine needles mostly stay on the tree, but some do not.

Since white left, gold has been the dominant color of my world, these few acres of yard and woods. (That will change, of course, as green returns. I might need to do a few months of the greens because it’s such a glorious color.) But March was gold, let us say hello (and goodbye).

For some reason, this kind of oak does not drop its leaves in the fall.

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