Winter never seemed to have a graceful exit. Like an unwanted night visitor, now under the glare of a trembling light, winter would slink away in March. The trees in the orchard did not protest the graceless exit, but wrapped themselves in the winds that blew warm. The roots beneath the trees stretched themselves free from the fastened soil of sleep, and all of life awoke from the shiver of its dream. By the time April arrived, the trees were so full, they could no longer hold back their storehouse of joy and love, which had been poured out upon them by soil and sun. It was on that one day the trees burst forth with the joy of giving. The petals of promise floated through the branches and fell to rest on the new grass and the glisten of the dew, and on every tree there was a celebration of the light of life.