There must always be time.

The scent of honeysuckle and wild roses, of the green and growing seeds summer will one day call its own, the flicker of songbird wings sailing late spring breezes. It's time to turn the rich earth and touch it, bringing it --in reverent hands--to make contact with things of beauty. It's time for kittens and puppies and children, time for scuffed knees and smiling faces with sunburned noses, time for long walks down shade-sheltered lanes or to play in the soft warm rains. For those things, there must always be time.