[I] In spring, the dawn -

when the slowly paling mountain rim is tinged with red, and wisps of faintly crimson-purple cloud float in the sky.


In summer, the night...it's beautiful when fireflies are dancing everywhere in mazy flight. An it's delightful too to see just one or two fly through the darkness, glowing softly...


In autumn, the evening...oh how inexpressible, when the sun has sunk, to hear in the growing darkness the wind, and the song of autumn insects.


In winter, the early morning - if snow is falling, of course, it's unutterably delightful, but it's perfect too if there's a pure white frost, or even just when it's very cold, and they hasten to build up the fires in the braziers and carry in fresh charcoal...


- Sei Shonagon, The Pillow Book; Meredith McKinney, trans.