A splendid overcast hides the sun, and the late afternoon light is soft and shimmering gray. The mulberry tree's young leaves are like a mass of green butterflies suspended in mid flight. Then a breeze arrives and they stir, rising until they lift the twigs to which they cling, and the tree suddenly seems to be enveloped in a cloud of fluttering, waving creatures. My cat, excited by the activity, runs across the lawn and up the tree trunk, then leaps back down. A few raindrops fall, speckling the pavement, but the brief flurry soon passes and the air falls still. Evening birds begin to chirp, the light dims, the drifting clouds darken, and the flowers fade. There is no sunset.