I got reacquainted with the moon last night. There it was, gliding through the clear sky; the cupped crescent of spring, spilling its light over aspiring pine branches from which it dripped down to pool in patches on plush lawns. After the weeks of drumming rain and dripping dew, the silent fall of light was as restful to the ear as to the eye. A motile filigree of leaf shadow played across me as I strolled the street. Now the damp is lessened by a day of sun, the air is scented more with growing leaves and blossoms than with wet wood and earth. A freshness accompanies the returning moon, and the perceptible warming is like anticipation. Whatever May brings, each day will be sung to light by welcoming birds, emerging from the soft bower of spring nights.