The April light is perfect. The marigolds, black-eyed susans, azaleas, lilies, lilacs, dogwood and magnolia blossoms all grow vivid in its glow, as do the young, translucent leaves of the mulberry tree and the oaks, and the plush lawns. Clouds come and go, white or blue-gray, a constant parade of changing shapes decorating the sky. Each hour brings more birds, and the entire afternoon is filled with songs. The apple orchard's foliage is now dense, concealing the distance. The world grows smaller and livelier in spring. The mountain ridges and open fields are less noticeable, and he smallest insects attract attention as they dart here and there on wings that shimmer with sunlight. Only the briskness of the active air prevents me from dozing as watch the scene, so strong is the light's hypnotic invitation to merge with its revealed dream.