Kermit the Frog's initial lamentations eventually morph into an acceptance and celebration of the extraordinary in the seemingly mundane. He teaches us how to look, not simply see, just as we should learn how to listen and not merely hear.
So it is not without a bit of irony that on this day of celebration of all things chlorochrous (perhaps the same irony that green robbed from blue, the color traditionally associated with St. Patrick) that I look to other colors that begin to permeate the landscape--colors that not just punctuate the monotony of omnipresent green, but really highlight its variations in ways that we can more appreciate its distinctiveness and peculiarities.
An early morning walk in the garden revealed an astonishing juxtaposition of the amaranthine ajuga against a field of prasinous moss.
Last year's struggle with the placement of Citronelle Heuchera, if I may, ended with the right decision: the perfect accompaniment to the grey-green blades of Indigo Bearded Iris.
My Sexless, er, I mean Sawtooth Aucuba japonica Serratifolia displays its own sense of humor: a playful protrusion of chartreuse leaf encased florets against its leathery gray leaves that will soon open to reveal Imperial (Tyrian) Purple.
The flaming reds of the Japanese maple leaf buds herald a new season, a true vanguard of the revolution,
and the color is reflected elsewhere in the garden, closer to the ground, in the guise of the Britt Marie Crawford Ligularia
and, nearby, the (albeit differently colored) candy-cane like spikes of a Diamond Tiara Hosta.
Not to be outdone, blue must, too, make an appearance: a forced appearance, if you ask me. The Heart-Leaf Brunnera, which usually does not sport flowers until it is 5 times the size it is now (at least 6 inches tall), was compelled to bring the sky down, treated as it were with week-long temperatures in the 70s. Who can lament a cerulean blue in the garden, even if it is premature?