The distant brown forest has had a serene shimmer of young green for a few days; on the Lettensteg today I found the first half-opened primrose blossom; In the moist, clear sky, the soft April clouds dream and the wide, barely plowed fields are so shiny brown and spread out towards the balmy air so desperately, as if they longed to receive and float and their mute powers in a thousand green sprouts and emerging stalks to try, to feel and to give away. Everything is waiting, everything is preparing, everything is dreaming and sprouting in a fine, tenderly pressing fever of development - the germ of the sun, the cloud towards the field, the young grass towards the air.