An early afternoon, sun already dropping behind the clouds and landscapes, reflections of warmth throughout winter's intricate designs, quickly warming to a glow of colors and textures. Abstracted for interest and fun!
by John Keats /Wikipedia: a stanza of a lovely poem that intertwined, somehow, with this abstract. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.