I live in an urban forest, my yard, a corner lot, home for 32 mature oaks and poplars. My neighbor is the same, embracing the forest over the field. Below the trees live many smaller trees, Rose of Sharon, Dogwood, Buckeye, and Cherry. Dark green is on this morning; deep clouds fill the woods with moisture boding rain making for the somberness that speaks clearly the truth, The Divine Wisdom manages all. I am drawn into this dark green, like gently easing into a cathedral after the morning homilies have begun. Sunny woods are an outdoor festival of praise, somber woods are candlelit sanctuaries for the weary, the bird songs are softer, fewer, and everything is bowed about The Throne as we rest at our Masters Feet—dark green is the feature.
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