Another storm is moving in, but this one will be warmer. The soft green foliage and dark branches of the oaks are etched against the milky luminescence of a mother-of-pearl sky. The damp air is still. Small insects with translucent wings have returned to flight, swirling around the new blossoms. As yet, I have seen no butterflies this spring. The unaccustomed chill and rain has perhaps kept them in their chrysalides thus far. I myself rarely ventured far from my house in April. That May will be more conducive to walking is what I wish now. The butterflies and I both need to get out.