The air has been perfect for the last few days -- not to warm, not too cool, lightly scented with pine and young grass and sweet flowers. The mulberry tree has enough leaves to produce a brocade of light and shadow. Though winds have been blowing in the valley, here it is all wooded stillness, broken only by the afternoon buzzing of bees and the evening songs of crickets, and the occasional chirping of birds. Cats laze in sunny spots, setting the tone for the whole drowsing town. An afternoon walk brought me to the bright green field along the rapidly diminishing creek where, in reedy pools, frogs croaked. The edge of the wood is lit with the yellow blossoms of Scottish broom. Pale blue-green leaves of manzanita are now sharing their space with the plant's shiny berries, green streaked with red. For the moment, it is as though spring had not been delayed. These few mild days which pass with such stately calm, before the rising heat of summer browns the fields and wilts the flowers, are those in which I like to linger, leaving all but essential tasks undone. When nature is at its most profuse, it is good to simplify all else. The bees will make their honey regardless of what I do. I will sit and watch the bees.