If there is something that I have learned since I moved to a big city, it's that you miss color.
The other day, as the first Spring breezes started dancing through the trees, I was walking to work up Bathurst Street in downtown Toronto. As I cleared the discount home supply store, with it's windows Winter-dusty with sleepy displays of throw blankets and insulating window treatments, I caught a glimpse of something I realized I hadn't seen in a while: the color green.
It took the rest of the walk to work to realize that I hadn't seen green in ages. When you live in a city, you see brown mud and brownstone, you see gray skies and gray cement, you see black shadows and black nights. You rarely see green. Unless it's traffic lights or the green pillars in China Town. Even the green vegetables braving the outside stalls aren't truly green.
So when I saw the patch of grass, with tulips poking through, it was like I was seeing color for the first time. I still look at that place as I walk by. I still can't believe that there is something in the world that is that bright.