" Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!"
by Thomas Nashe ( 1567-1601 )
When I time it just right I can hop in my car and drive from Denver to Kansas City and have my eyes increasingly filled with the color of spring as I drive East. I leave my house with its just blooming Forsythia and marching tulips to run into a ballet made up of blooming redbud trees some where between Salina and Kansas City.