That title is not meant to be a truth: there are thousands, millions, of other beautiful walks. But when I walked to work yesterday down Castle Hill, I felt that there could be nothing more beautiful. Great Barrington is a small town nestled in a river valley with East Mountain rising on one side. I live on the other side, and as I walk to the office on Main Street I enjoy lovely New England clapboard houses, some Victorian and a few earlier, painted in pale eggshell colors, white and beige and just barely green. There are rosy tulips and lingering daffodils, and the white and pink crabapples are just beginning to blossom. Two mossy, lichened-covered flights of stone steps led to houses on a steep bank, and then the view opens to East Mountain and its sisters sweeping to the north. The church steeples and red brick commercial buildings of the town are garlanded with pear blossom, the sun is shining, and there’s a sense of excitement and pleasure on people’s faces. (After all, as a man I overheard yesterday said, “It’s nice and warm and there’s not even blackflies yet.”)