To this day, some 40-odd years past, 
still I can recall that instant of offense: 
a negative taken to a shop for enlargement 
and some clueless dudes’ snide comment,
“There’s a lots of green in that shot man!”
I probably blushed offering no defense. 

The photo; my son hop-splashing across
shallow, cold rock gurgling Holly Creek
in glee, startled water and he, frozen blurs
of joyous motion deemed forever known.
Suspended trees' and banks' radiant greens
swaddling him in infinite hues of caring.

Is there such a thing as too much green;
over-abundant life? Are there cravings for
hard-gray walls, rarefied and songless air, 
worlds existing in a mirrored box of self?
Slap! “Little  mosquito shit!” I wince as he
takes a sip of me into eternal green time.