The spring rain came down last night.

Every growing thing was washed clean and shouted with delight as the grey sky arched overhead.

I filled my lungs with the freshness of that intoxicating air and walked along the well worn path.

There’s a meadow where the balsom blooms so brightly yellow it almost hurts to look at.

The lupin, as a blue refrain, blooms nestled between.

I stopped in stunned pleasure at the sight and breathed in the washed sage smell.

Then, as if the world overflowed with joy, the meadow larks sang.