The trees are still drably brown, not even brushed with new leaves, and the birds cheeping merrily away are as brown as their perches, but one. The cardinal perches brilliantly scarlet on its bough, a fleck of color in the brown.
A forest floor is solidly green, in a spread of flowerless leaves.
A flash of blue by the roadside: bright blue spring flowers, star-like and low against the ground.
Some scenes are still wintry -- the sunlight slants through trees as leafless as a lamppost, and over slopes of grass still drably brownish -- and then warmth strikes. Where a drain pipe lets out water, where it runs over the ground before reaching a drain, the grass was already growing lushly emerald, but with the warmth, all over grass is growing, and growing. By morning light it looks almost bluish, perhaps in contrast to the things still yellow and brown, perhaps. Though the trees are starting to show the lacy touch of red blossoms, on the maples, and the willows are still ahead. One rather spindly willow shoots up like a yellow firecracker on the highway's side. And down below, the brush sprouts the palest of green leaves, spread like lace over its branches.
In the forest, some trees are crowned with red, and some with yellow green, but within it stand the brush with leaves so new and yellow they look like flowers. Other brush stands alongside the road in a pure but pale green, so pale it looks silver, like fairy lace with the scattering of leaves still delicate from their size. And the harbinger flowers are giving way to the flowers of the full spring pomp. Daffodils, still blooming, look very different when all about there are green and growing things -- more jocund, no longer the brave and solitary outcropping of spring against winter. Hyacinth in full bloom and rich red and purples. Tulips sprouting, and some with flower heads just on the cusp of blooming, entirely red though still sealed up, and about other tulips with forming buds, some even showing color. I saw a weeping cherry in its delicate pink, and thought it perhaps a sheltered early bloomer, but many others along the way seem to have taken the warmth to heart, and trees were abloom with white or pink here and there. Many a magnolia is not entirely ready to be in full bloom, but all the petals are furled up, ready to burst open any moment. And the pale violets litter the lawn, and a bumble bee bumbles from one to the next.
A willow in particolor, half its boughs greening, and the other half still fresh spring-sprout yellow.
A sprig of heartsease, growing up between the pavement and the wall, with a face almost all pale yellow, and a fringe of stygian purple on its upper two petals.
Crabapple blossoms, still in bud, are the most intense and concentrated hot pink imaginable. Blooming, they unfurl a pink that could be paler only beside the bud.
Down the highway, morning sunlight slants through the median's trees, a chiaroscuro of black and a brilliant green.
The maples' new red leaves, still tiny, backlit by morning light, are a pure shade of red, as brilliant as a ruby in the sunlight. Eveningtime, they have already darkened to a shade that looks brownish even backlit, approaching the stygian green-red of summer.
Apple trees look like they are covered with pink berries, except for a few bursts in paler pink that give away that these are blossoms.
Spring proceeds. You can see it in the forest, which turn to green, all bright, fresh green, with bars of darkness where the trunks are against the masses of leaves.
A gray day can be lovely in spring -- zipping along the highway with all the trees flourishing in green, and here and there an apple tree bursting with white, and along the median, the grass growing thickly green.
A tree burdened with blossom, a shade of pink with double rows of frilly petals -- which, it seems, catch the rain. Even after rainfall ceases, every blossom hangs downward.
A tree, sharply lit up by slanting sunlight, with every leaf cut out as if by a knife, against a towering gray cloud like charcoal, is one of the most striking sights to be seen. It's particularly striking if the tree is a flowering cherry, with white blossoms catching the light.
A blustery day sends showers of pink as the petals are shed -- until instead of the trees being crowned with pink, the ground is carpeted with it.
A day with thunderous clouds lowering in the west as the sun sets -- not enough to keep the sunbeams entirely hidden. They slant against the trees, whose wind-tossed and shuddering leaves gleam like mirrors on one side, and are stippled with darkness on the other, all silhouetted against the clouds.