Green

by Sage Holliday

Green had always felt like the sound of a cello warming up—low, alive, and full of promise. It lingered in the spaces between spring and memory, pushing up through sidewalk cracks like it had something urgent to say. Children knew it best, chasing it through fields and paintboxes with grass-stained knees and no hesitation. On a Tuesday, a man painted his entire kitchen green just to remember a forest he once walked through in silence. On a Wednesday, a woman wore green socks to a job interview because they reminded her of her grandmother’s laugh. And every Thursday, everywhere, green quietly reminded the world that hope doesn’t need permission to grow.

6S

Sage Holliday teaches creative journaling workshops and collects vintage postcards for inspiration.