I love to awaken with birds in the crib of morning to see the first glow of light and hear the faint plash from shadows falling. I love robins nesting in wisteria violets, lilies of the valley and showers of petals from Japanese cherry. I love buttermilk from a tall yellow glass and the delirium of dandelions in lush green grass. I love to kneel in wisdom of moss breathing in the birth fragrance of earth, hearing wind psalms and the pebbly chorus of frogs. I love the white moth flitting along the path . . . I think it flew from a window in a dark gray stone. I love the oriole singing waters bubbling from the hillside spring and swifts twittering and swirling unravelling strands of sky. I love the growing candles on the pines that have stars for flames and the moon peering from her cloud balcony silvering the meadow.