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into the air, over the valleys, under the stars, above a river, a pond, a road, flew Cecy. Invisible as new spring winds, fresh as the breath of clover rising from twilight fields, she flew. She soared in doves as soft as white ermine, stopped in trees and lived in blossoms, showering away petals when the breeze blew. She perched in a lime-green frog, cool as mint by a shining pool. She trotted in a brambly dog and barked to hear echoes from the sides of distant barns. She lived in new April grasses, in sweet clear liquids rising from the musky earth.
It's spring, thought Cecy. I'll be in every living thing in the world tonight.
Now she inhabited neat crickets on the tar-pool roads, now she prickled in dew on an iron gate. Hers was an adaptatably quick mind flowing unseen upon Illinois winds on this one evening of her life when she was just seventeen.
"I want to be in love," she said.

Isn't this gorgeous? Don;t you want to follow these steps? Don't you immediately swoon when hearing the last phrase?

Bradbury changes the mood with one word: Illinois. It is amazing to me how telling a location can shift my gears so quickly.