Sure thing, let’s listen to that green. It’s whispering a soft, unhurried note, like moss after rain, a breath of green that sighs with calm. It’s not shouting; it’s humming a slow lullaby, almost a quiet “I’m here, take it easy.” Maybe the story is that the place has been waiting, patient, for you to notice the small, gentle touch of life. If you want a sharper edge, try to hear the underlying undertone of that green—does it lean a touch of yellow, hinting at new growth, or a hint of blue, hinting at cool uncertainty? That could be the clue. So, what do you see when you stare at it?