Over the course of an hour, three or four insects and other crawlies – all in unlikely shades of chlorphyll green – fall from the tree I’m under and flicker across my arm hairs, my ear, and the pages of the book I’m reading. Later, a mile from the park, I tie my shoelaces and shake a tiny green caterpillar from my shoe.
How wonderful that you are able to read a book under a tree! I miss that. If I tried that up here, there aren’t enough colors or explitives in the language I murder to cover the quantity and sheer rainbow of crawly, stinging, biting things that would cover me, within a half a minute. I literally would not be able to read the print on the page, alas.
So, good for you. I find comfort in the thought of you reading a book, under a tree.