The Breath of the Year — Some morning in early spring, when the snow still lies heavily on our hillsides, you have by chance opened a window and inhaled the first fragrance which tells you winter is over. ’
The pleasant chill in the air still binds all less ethereal odors in their winter prison-house. But late in April or early in May, when the hidden bonds have all been loosened, and even the fast-running brook calls out the fresh scent of the mossy stones in its channel, then, if you stand in an open meadow, and give yourself up freely to the full delight of the wakening earth, you will become aware that it is neither delicate blossom nor singing bird which adds the last enchantment to the moment, but the wonderful blending of every shy and vague scent in the world. You cannot rudely extricate one or another from the harmony.