Molder of forsythia underfoot
Signals an imminent breath
Of lilac on the nearby bush.
Now’s the pivot of Spring in the Berkshires,
A place of pictures ever
Fading into pictures ever fresh.
– Dave Conlin Read
(In Piazza Tales, written two miles from where this poem was, Herman Melville writes, “…for a house, so situated in such a country, to have no piazza for the convenience of those who might desire to feast upon the view…seemed as much of an omission as if a picture-gallery should have no bench; for what but picture-galleries are the marble halls of these same limestone hills? – galleries hung, month after month anew, with pictures ever fading into pictures ever fresh.”)