Nature is behind a veil, upon which some masses of form are vaguely sketched. The damp, sweet smell of the incense of Spring is in the air—you breathe deeply—a sense of religious emotion sweeps over you—you close your eyes an instant in a prayer of thankfulness that you are alive.
You do not keep your eyes closed long, though—something is about to happen—you grow expectant, you wait, you listen, you hold your breath—everything trembles with a delight that is half-pain, under the invigorating caress of the coming day.
You breathe fast, and then you hold your breath and listen.
You wait.
You peer.
You listen.
Bing! A ray of pale yellow light shoots from horizon to zenith. The dawn does not come all at once: it steals upon you by leaps and subtle strides like deploying pickets.
Bing! Another ray, and the first one is suffusing itself across an arc of the purple sky.
Bing, Bing! The east is all aglow.
The little flowers at your feet are waking in joyful mood.