The Green the Mountain Keeps Hidden
Under the snow, something is already green.
She knew it before the thaw did.
Moss on the north side of the cedar,
tied two fingers deep.
The Beni M'Guild are known for purple, and a green one is the exception a family talks about. Up where the cedars hold snow until March, green is a rumour for five months of the year, and then one morning the melt runs off the roofs and the moss on the north side of every trunk comes back as if it had been waiting. This is that green: not a meadow, not a leaf, but the deep damp colour of the forest floor the week the snow lets go. She dyed it herself, and she dyed enough for a rug three metres long, which is a decision you make once.
Four decades have softened the pile to a dense two centimetres and taken the sharpness off the dye, so that what remains is closer to the inside of a pine wood at noon. On pale oak boards, with one low leather chair and a great deal of daylight, it is the quietest strong colour in the house.
Handwoven rugs grow in beauty, memory, and value with every passing year.