The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and
narcissus in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the
water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It
cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright
light.
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance,
dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir
of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot, and the planes
of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the
green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is
almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright
day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots.
The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a
whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.