A Samuil is a production of Ivor's Radio.

The Haunted Orchard by Richard Legallienne.

Spring was once more in the world. As she sang to herself in the faraway woodlands,

her voice reached even the ears of the city, weary with the long winter. Daffodils flowered at the entrances to the subway.

Furniture removing vans blocked to the side streets.

Children clustered like blossoms on the doorsteps.

The open cars were running, and the cry of the cash clow man was once more heard in the land.

Yes, it was the spring, and the city dreamed wistfully of lilacs,

and the dewy piping of birds in gnarled old apple trees,

of dogwood lighting up with sudden silver the thickening woods, of water plants,

unfolding their glossy scrolls in pools of morning freshness.

On Sunday mornings the outbound trains were thronged with eager pilgrims hastening out of the city, to behold once more the ancient marvel of the

spring. And on Sunday evenings the railway termini were a flower with banners of blossom, from rifled

woodland and orchard, carried in the hands of the returning pilgrims, whose eyes still shone with the spring magic, in whose ears

still sang the fairy music.

And as I beheld these signs of the vernal equinox, I knew that I, too, must follow the music,

forsake a while the beautiful siren we call the city, and in the green silences meet once

more my sweetheart.

Solitude.

As the train drew out of the Grand Central, I hummed to myself,

I have a neater, sweeter maiden in a greener, cleaner land, and so I said goodbye to the city,

and went forth with beating heart to meet the spring. I had been told of an almost forgotten

...