The grass is bright green and striped with shadows from the still-low sun. The trees have their earliest leaves, tender and golden.
The azaleas have burst into bloom — the lavender one along the back of the house, the bifurcated pink one beside the trampoline, and the fuchsia one in the middle of the garden — a mistake in terms of landscaping but a triumph from the azalea's point of view.
Knowing how rare such moments of perfection are, I plan to sit here a moment, sip my tea and be grateful for every bit of birdsong.