"In spring, the dawn. The sky, dyed in morning light, slowly brightens and purple clouds stretch across the mountains...
In summer, the night. I need not write of the nights lit by the moon, but of the moonless nights, the fireflies' lights crossing in the darkness. . .
In autumn, the evening. The setting sun burnishes the edges of the mountains and the birds fly home. . . . A trembling line of wild geese flies into the distance and disappears. . .
In winter, it is the early morning. Of course it is delightful when snow is falling, but even when there is a pure-white frost -- or in the freezing cold without either snow or frost -- the way the fire is hurriedly stirred up and coals carried to all the rooms seems most suited to the season...
Sei Shonagon "The Pillow book", ~1000
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