And at last it was really spring: flowers everywhere. The woods were carpeted with them: bloodroot wrapped in its cloak like an Indian princess, trillium, jack-in-the-pulpit, Dutchman's-breeches, hepatica (blooming out of a little fur mitten), and dogtooth violet.
Down near the creek there were real violets by the hundred, by the thousand, starring their heartshaped leaves.
Even the trees were full of flowers, apple blossom, and snowy pear, and cherry.
Of two huge lopsided bushes near the House, one suddenly burst into a rash of orange rosettes and the other turned into a shower of pink fringe almost overnight... and the smell that drifted in through the open windows was so wildly exciting; a fragrance so new, never breathed before, so sweet and mysteriosus and inviting that one couldn't stay indoors.
da Elizabeth Enright, Lo sbaglio del quarto piano, Salani Firenze