Cylburn Arboretum in April

207 acres on a hill in northwest Baltimore. In April it becomes the most beautiful place in a city that doesn't always get credit for beauty. Magnolias first, then dogwoods, then azaleas detonating in pink, coral, and a white so bright you squint. By mid-month the hillside looks like a Monet that got rained on.

The mansion at the top is a stone Victorian from 1863, wisteria on the south wall in purple ropes. The formal gardens around it reward slow walking. The woodland trails are a different world — the Cylburn Trail descends through oaks and beeches to a stream, wildflowers carpeting the slope. Virginia bluebells in sheets. Trilliums dotting the floor like stars in a green sky.

Free, daily, dawn to dusk. Parking lot holds fifteen cars — come early on spring weekends. No dogs, so the wildlife is bold. I counted four warbler species in thirty minutes without binoculars. A red fox crossed the trail with the confidence of the most beautiful thing in the forest. Come in April. Come in the morning.