Although we miss the regular updates and weekly round-up of our beloved Silver Bloggers’ initiatives, the spirit of this community continues to thrive in each of our stories. They have given us the freedom to continue inhabiting this space with our own stories, provided we keep alive that vision of maturity, fulfilment and wonder that characterises us. Motivated by this desire not to let our tradition of sharing die out, I have decided to take a trip down memory lane and revisit the very first initiative in its history – one in which I didn’t have the chance to take part at the time. Today, with the perspective that comes with experience, I delve into the treasure chest of memories to answer a question that seems simple, yet defines a large part of who I am: What is my favourite colour, and how do I incorporate it into my daily life?

The Breath of Chlorophyll

They say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul, but sometimes I suspect that mine are, rather, windows that always look out onto the same forest. It’s no secret to the mirrors, nor to the dew that forms on my windows every morning: my existence is tinged with green. It’s not just a colour or a mere aesthetic preference; it’s a frequency at which my heart beats more calmly, a chromatic refuge where time—that stubborn old fellow—seems to pause to rest.

If I close my eyes and travel back in time, to that sacred place where adulthood had not yet robbed us of our sense of wonder, I see myself with my knees stained with chlorophyll and my gaze fixed on the treetops. Back then, I wasn’t just a child playing in the garden; I was a captain of the high seas. To others, that tree with its rough trunk and outstretched branches was merely part of the landscape, but to me it was a majestic frigate, a vessel of living wood sailing across oceans of air.

I remember the texture of the bark beneath my palms, that warm roughness that served as my ladder to the sky. As I climbed, each branch was a rung towards freedom. Once at the top, enveloped in the rustle of the leaves flapping like sails stirred by the wind, I was sailing. The world below grew small, insignificant. From my emerald vantage point, distances were not measured in metres, but in dreams. Up there, green was not a colour, it was a language; the tree spoke to me of the patience of the roots and the ambition of the light.

Today, although my hands no longer reach for the height of the branches quite so often, that young sailor still lives within me. How do I incorporate green into my daily life? I don’t do it like someone choosing a tie or a painting; I do it like someone seeking the oxygen they need to keep breathing.

My most sacred daily ritual is shedding. I take off my shoes so that my feet, sometimes weary from the hardness of the tarmac, can feel the damp caress of the grass. There is an electrifying wisdom in the act of stepping onto the grass. It is a silent conversation between the earth and my nervous system. I feel the coolness of the green rising up through my heels, reminding me that I am part of something greater, something that sprouts, grows and withers with enviable dignity.

In those moments of contemplation, I like to lose myself in the depths of the plain. The horizon, when cloaked in green, has a healing quality. It is an abyss that, rather than frightening, embraces. I look towards where the plain merges with the sky and feel my thoughts unravelling. My worries, which are usually leaden grey, dissolve in the face of the vastness of the countryside. It is there that the colour green becomes a form of perspective therapy: if nature is capable of regenerating itself after winter, I too can heal my own little daily cracks.

I bring greenery into my home, in the plants that guard my balcony like sentinels of hope, and in the way I seek the shade of the trees to read a book. I incorporate it into the silence I maintain as I walk along a path, allowing the foliage to do the talking. For me, living in green is a statement of principle: it is choosing life, freshness and constant renewal over stagnation.

Sometimes, when the wind blows strongly and makes the leaves on the nearby trees dance, I smile to myself. I know that, somewhere deep in my memory, that young captain is climbing back onto his boat. I feel the sway of the branch, the scent of fresh sap, and the certainty that, as long as there is a green shoot in the world, there will always be a place where my soul can sail peacefully, anchored to the earth but with my gaze fixed on the infinite. Because green is not just my favourite colour; it is the map of my home and the compass that guides my days towards peace.

Hi! Everybody (friends), if you've made it this far, THANK YOU! You are welcome to participate; the link with all the information is below. But I also hope to read your comments in the reply box. Thank you for joining us in these waters of HIVE.