When I sit on the shorn grass, feeling its silk brush my toes and its scent tickle my nostrils; or when I walk a path in the woods where the trees arch overhead, passing layered granite etched with moss; or when I take a chair to the wide creek stubbled with smooth, dry stones and I sit under the overhanging limbs, listening to the black water curl and skid around rock – of all these country pleasures, the greatest is the dappled light. How should a layman like me explicate i