Then come all the greens in the spectrum—doubly welcome after a long winter. Our eyes need the comfort of another wavelength than that which glances off a snowbank. The grass comes first. The meadow loses its winter grizzle and warms with a greenness underneath. The drifts in the woodland shrink and rill away. With the haze of first leaf, you see the green against the sky, thin as gauze, outlining twig and branchlet—a gleamy shimmer of spring lace. The eye feasts; the heart celebrates. What is suggested by the use of the word feasts?