Sitting in the backyard reading the newspaper in the early morning gives me time to ponder the color green. Most folks probably don't give it much thought except when it pertains to money, the go light at intersections, or St. Patrick's Day.

The truth is that I have been green-challenged for years. As a painter I should have befriended it in my schoolgirl's watercolor box. But alas, when I began to paint professionally, I ignored the color and had only one green tube in my paint basket and one green bottle in my ink box. My green colored pencils were always the longest and most pointed.

I do not like green nor do I understand green. It looks very different to me in paintings than in the real landscape. I can't seem to capture it on a permanent surface. So, I have no green in my house, no green in my wardrobe (except one shirt for St. Patrick's Day), and precious little green in my art.

Strangely enough, observing green in my yard is a whole other matter. It is light and sometimes yellowish in spring. As summer progresses, the trees and shrubs change to a deep bright, leathery green. This green is strong and lush, becoming a hue that seems to say, "I will be here forever." Sun makes nature's green change shades as its position in the sky changes. Green can look quite vibrant in the morning and quite dull in the evening. The greens of autumn are drab, olive, and dry looking, even when rain washes the landscape.

Very few colors affect me the way green does. It is complex and confounding - a color to observe rather than engage. I wonder if the animals and birds see the changes in greens the way humans do? I guess they don't have to understand green because they live amidst this chameleon-like color. For them, it just is.