枕草子

MAKURA NO SOSHI

In Spring, the dawn. When gradually the line of the

hills is outlined in white, then tinged with light, and

purplish clouds trail thinly in the sky, it is marvelous.

In Summer, the evening. At a time of full moon, in particular,

or when fireflies flit about against a blackened sky.

It is marvelous too, even when it rains.

In Autumn, the twilight. When the evening light spotlights

the line of the hills, bringing them much closer

so that crows going home to roost, in trios, or quartets,

or duets even, accentuate the flying as joyously sad.

How much more marvelous it is when geese and the like,

in formations, grow ever smaller as they fly away.

Marvelous it is too after the sun sets, when one

hears the wind, or the chirruping of insects.

In Winter, the early morning after prayers.

It goes without saying when the snow is falling.

Frost very whitely settling, or even when it isn't and

it is very cold. And when the charcoal lumps are

fired hastily and brought around to the rooms,

how fitting to the season it is!

Time turns toward noon and as the embers grow lukewarm,

in the fire boxes and braziers, the glow turns to

whitened ash and all looks sickly.

Translated by Kenneth L. Richard