Waking to the melodies of a chorus of birds. Visioning the  leafs on the trees dancing merely to the beat.
  April showers falling from the heavens above,   touching the unearthed seedlings preparing for their bloom.
Springtime is almost here.
May arriving bringing the sunshine to dry the moistened ground, as each seeding awakes by the morning dew, their limbs stretching through the soil , like a baby chick pecking the shell, they are brought to life.
There is so much beauty a city never sees, like the enchanted flies of the southern country with glowing fairy-like wings. Let's not forget the whipperwill singing in the old oak trees or the katiedids that hide in their shell. The crickets joining as their legs play violin as the bull frogs play base with there deep vocal sounds, if you sit quietly you may likely hear, the howling of  a pack of coyotes so far from you but sound so near.
Springtime in the south is heaven on Earth , no hustle or bustle or lights from the cities to interfere.
I can't imagine springtime anywhere but here.