Out this morning, I walked by a hill that looked like it was piled in green velvet. The sun was striping through the trees and laying across it a thick gauze of morning-soft gold, throwing up sparks in the dew liberally sprinkled over the surface. When the light breeze came through, the patterns of light would shift slightly, beckoning.
"If I had that song with me," I thought, "I would lie here. And listen to it."