Gray clouds release a few sprinkles, then move on to dampen some other part of the forest. Bright sunlight shines for a while, and I watch the vast, white plumes of cloud scattered about the blue drift northward, until another clump of them casts a shadow over the neighborhood and drops a bit more soft rain. This pattern continues all afternoon. When dusk arrives the western sky is clear and the bright pinpoint of Venus emerges, very near the crescent cup of the young moon. The air has that delightful coolness of which I will dream when sultry summer has descended. Wood and soil and grass all still smell of fresh rain. It's the essence of woodland spring, and no bottle but one merely imagined will contain it.