Warm sunshine, light breeze, not a cloud in the sky. A day as near to perfect as I can imagine. I went out to the hillside with the intention of tackling the mulching--the bags were stacked up waiting for me. And of course once I got out there I saw weeds. So back inside I went to get the hand tools. Set with one of my favorite implements of weed whackin' destruction I headed back up. When I got to the top of the hill and looked down I was mesmerized by the riot of colors and textures. I just plopped myself down on the nearest bag of mulch and took it all in. I don't do that nearly enough--just sit and enjoy.
Just as the bottom of the hill starts to fade--daffodils, tulips, bluebells, lilacs--the top of the hill calls out, "Hey, ignore those fading beauties. They're all washed out. Look at us in our Spring finery!" I love looking up from the bottom of the hill first thing in the morning. Everything glows as the sun filters through the different colors and textures of foliage.