My favorite season puts a spring in my step, and I can’t resist daily walks in the garden. I don’t want to miss a thing! Here, the glorious sunlight bathing the velvety new leaves on the willows’ branches stopped me in my tracks. The impossible glow had me leaning left and right and in and out — peering awestruck.
THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING
Robert Browning, English poet
The year's at the spring,
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven—
All's right with the world!
