Word fishing

I am trying to pin something down here...

Green--dark green
Fresh snapped fire; I mean branches. Birch branches.
But there's fire there, somewhere. Sharpsharpsharp
There is a beak in that tree, wedged between the dark sinews--dark brown. Sienna. Root brown. That's it--roots.
Rootsdarkcracksnap
The semicircle of a nail that is belly up, then belly down, then up again--I would call it the moon, but it is dark and green, too.
It is yellow at the edges, at the tips, in the folds of the grass sprigs that push up from behind the ears, ear, just the one ear.
I must clarify--it is not a dark green at all, but a very vivid, bright (but not light) green that has been shadowed. Shaded. The distance between the color and its shadow can be felt and tasted. This difference is noticed.
I cannot but curl my fingers to this color, this smell of a color, this roughsharproughburn texture of a smell that, still, is escaping words so easily but sits and lingers so definitively.
The brown is like that of a beer bottle--translucent, but still dark, still shadowed in its own way by the warmcoldwheaten contents of it's glass belly.

I am all out of words, but I have not even touched it yet, not with any of them. This is fascinating. This is alluring. This is half-maddening. I am closing my eyes.