I can see, through the rifts of the apple boughs,
The delicate blue of the sky,
And the changing clouds with their marvellous tints
That drift so lazily by.
And strange, sweet thoughts sing through my brain,
And Heaven, it seemeth near;
Oh, is it not a rare, sweet time,
The blossoming time of the year?
From “Apple Blossoms,” Horatio Alger (1832-1899)
This week we celebrate. How can we not?
The sun returns. We feel the warmth at last after…