At first Johannes did not dare. He was wide awake, not dreaming; and if any one wide awake were to throw himself down from a high rock, he would meet his death. If one were dreaming, then nothing would happen. If only he could know, now, whether he was awake or dreaming!
"Come, Johannes, we have only a little time."
Then he risked it, and let himself drift downward. And it was splendid—so comfortable! He floated gently down through the mild, still air, arms and legs moving as in swimming.
"Is it only a dream, then?" he asked, looking down attentively at the beautiful, blooming world below him.
"What do you mean?" asked Wistik. "You are Johannes, just the same, and what you see, Johannes sees. Your body lies asleep, in Vrede-best, at your aunt's. But did you ever in the daytime see anything so distinct as this?"
"No," said Johannes.
"Well, then, you can just as well call your Aunt Seréna and Vrede-best a dream—just as much as this."
A large bird—an eagle—swept around in stately circles, spying at them with its sharp, fierce eyes.
Below, in the dark green of the valley, a small white temple, with its columns, was visible. Close beside it a mountain stream tumbled splashing down below. Still and straight as arrows, tall cypresses, with their pale grey trunks and black-green foliage, encircled it. A fine mist rose up from the splashing water, and, crowned with an exquisite arc of color, remained suspended amidst the glossy green myrtle and magnolia. Only where the water spattered did the leaves stir; elsewhere everything was motionless.
But over all rang the warbling and chattering of birds, from out the forest shade. Finches sang their fullest strains, and the thrushes fluted their changeful tune, untiringly.