Cobalt blue clouds, but for the pink at the horizon, raindrops splattered on the window -- and the wind. Oh how the wind blows! The trees are black against the sunset and bending so far.
A tree on the street side has a tracing of pink buds, just opening, on a few of the branches.
A hawk in its pale brown and white feathers flies, downward. Not a dive, its wings are outstretched but the wind is so hard that its only shift is downward.
In the culvert, where the gray rocks are a rough jumble, stands of daffodils are blooming brightly.
Along the green, the little cherry saplings stand with their branches rotund with pink.
What weather it is. A drive home, on the curves of the highway, turns from bright blue sky with white though puffy clouds, to a sky of stygian gray looming over the slopes with green grass and brown trees both pale from sunlight. Between lie thick gray clouds with just a scrap of blue showing -- and clashing in color.
The rain has left the grass lush. Great swathes of vivid green. From a distance, the dandelions look like pieces of gold, scattered around.
There are bands of gray nearer the horizon, but it is bright and sunshiny and the sky overhead is blue which does not stop it from hailing on me, little stinging hailstones -- albeit briefly.
The trees are indeed leafing. An apple tree has leaves that cover its branches, and the willows are a bright green but fully as dark as the pines by them.
What a windstorm -- they had all but clear-cut the median, leaving a few trees standing here and there, but they choose poorly: three lie flat on the ground, their roots having torn up earth as they fell.
Two robins are swirling about, fighting, on the roadside, until I drive too close. Then they perch, one on the grass and one on the curb, as if they had been caught and were pretending, to keep out of trouble.
A tree has had its root stock put up two sizable trunks. During the winter it is obvious because of their smooth trunks by its rough and lichen-bearing bark. Now it is still more clear because the old tree is putting forth leaves that have turned a solid green, while the root stock still has only buds.
In a puddle, a robin briskly bathes, splashing the water very effective about its body with its wings.
In the shadows of the house, on the green grass, two creatures in gray, subtly shaded in dark and light and brown shades: one a squirrel and one a mourning dove.
What winds! They howl about the eaves, but when I look out the window, the trees do not seem much stirred. I walk closer, and see that the flowering pink cherry is tossing more, and even the far off trees are moving, though not much. Less than seems obvious from the bird that merely hangs in midair, facing into the wind, until it dips lower and is able to fly forward.
A long drive, and a good view of roadsides gone to feral. A good year for daffodils, some cream and some yellow, some minature and some large. On other slopes periwinkles blossom blue in great swathes.
A delicate green spread on the forest floor, where all the brush put forth their leaves while the trees are still lingering.
All about, the fruit trees flower. The apple is masses of green leaves, intensely pink, almost red buds, and streaks of opening flowers looking white by contrast. One double cherry has furled buds in pink, frilly double blossoms in brilliant pink, and leaves both red and green at once, so all the mass looks ruddy. Crab apples with dark blossoms and streaks of brilliant pinks -- some darker, some lighter.
Goldfinches do not look gold at all. Almost green -- and fluorescent.
Along the way stand three flowering trees. Two in pink. One has a great mass of white -- and a sprig out its side, in pink.