Then in a few minutes a glorious transformation scene took place. The haze turned to a golden mist; it became sundered by rivers of clear air, and from it leaped the sun, like Helios from the sea.
Instantly the silence of the orchard became broken by the bickering of birds; a cock crowed somewhere in the back premises, and he was answered by the cock that lived half-way down the hill at the cooper’s shop—who was answered, a minute later, by all the roosters in Nagasaki.
The mist vanished entirely now, the sun began steadily to mount into the vault of perfect blue; his slanting rays shot through the cherry orchard, striking here the bole of a tree glistening with great tears of fragrant gum, and there on the ground besnowed with blossom, even the fierce old hills of the landscape garden lost something of their ruggedness in the warm and mellow light.
Then the house began to awaken. Pine-breeze appeared on the veranda, and after Pine-breeze the other Mousmés all busy, or appearing so, dragging out futon to air for a moment in the morning brightness, and lacquer screens to be dusted.
“Summer has come in the night,” said Lotus-bud, pointing out the fallen cherry-blossoms.
“Yes,” chimed in Pine-breeze, “but spring has gone.”
“I dreamt last night of frost.” This from Cherry-blossom, who was busily engaged watching the others at work.
Frost is a bad dream in Japan, and the Mousmés conferred in murmurs as to what it might mean.
“I know,” said Lotus-bud suddenly, with an air of conviction.
“What?”