Under the solitary watch of our nearing, warming, rising sun and into the chill of a worldly night, miracles in miniature sing their hymns of spring. Exquisite shades and shapes of doll-sized hearts stretch amidst a gradient green of branch and limb against the moist cushion of field grasses and ground. With an ardor of flowers the changeling earth frees its slow, sweet scent and dances to a tropical beat of avian voices flown north from their meridian home. Glistening veils of light spin in wisps and webs toward the promising sky, breathing of a choir more perfect and untold worlds more gently formed of purity and splendor so bright that even the angels are blind.

Heat settles thickly onto the Valley cradle. Lazy river days of cool running breezes. Mountain climbs to lighter air. Boats and lines, sun-seared skin. Dogs paddle. Children splash. Cats lay out in corner shade. Bees and wasps are spinning home in thunderstorms like raging tears. Deer rest in wildflower shelters that edge the lush and drying fields. Hidden in still green trees lustrous birds yield their indigo songs.

Catch it quick. Grab a leaf of red or gold for memory's store aside sky gliders, magic rainbow strips ballooned and blown through Shenandoah's clouds of sleep, over paths three-wheelers rough on mountain furrows, hidden tracks, mirrored round her scattered fleet in breezy heat for winter dreams.

Lights against dark embracing briefer days, a whitened haze of field and yard, cold stars and starkly silent trees. A freeze wends ice rippling while underneath a river runs, sure of spring.