It is a morning in early Spring, and the sun is rising, reflecting its pale shafts upon the wall. The first delicate sprays of the plum blossom lean from a jar on the table. Everywhere is very quiet, like a holy day. A blackbird, a missel thrush and a robin are singing.
Mists lie over the fields and the sky is tender blue.
At rest in bed in the bare little room, pervaded by light and peace and the sweet airs of morning, there is happiness. Time has stopped. Far away, as a vague and dusty memory, are toil, speed, complexity, effort and care. Behind a dark door that has closed behind me they are insubstantial and unreal. I have stepped out into a radiance with infinite vistas, from disintegration into unity, from a cloud into the sunlight.