A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here
A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn;It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay
Emily Dickinson
Beautiful pictures! Spring is the greatest, and I am a luver of summer too!
Wow, I love the pictures…and I was thinking you were quite a poet! But, then again so is Emily!