This is the April of dreams: lush, dripping, and deliriously green. The fragrances of wet earth and fresh leaves were mingled and heavenly.
The woods are carpeted in green; the canopy reflected into the puddles.
Now is also the time of my beloved maple coming-of-age ritual: "parsley" turning into "puppy leaves." First the trees vanish under a cloud of tiny flowers that are precisely the color "Spring Green" in the old Crayola palette. Then the floppy baby leaves push out, and the parsley falls into a lake of chartreuse underfoot.
I suspect that this lone walker, burdened with both umbrella and pants functionality issues, was oblivious to the fact that he was about to tread on a floral carpet.