I shall never forget that luminous drive on the brightest of winter nights. The coloured map of the heavens had expanded into a vast cupola, where fantastic lands, oceans, and seas towered , etched in lines of starry whirlpools and currents, luminous lines of heavenly geography. The air became easy to breathe, and was lit up like a silver gas. There was a scent of violets. From under the snow, woolly like white karakul furs, tremulous anemones began to appear, a spark of moonlight In each delicate chalice. The whole forest was illuminated, as if by a thousand lights, stars that the December firmament was plentifully shedding. The air breathed with some secret spring, the inexpressible purity of snow and violets. il. for The Cinnamon Shops by B. Schulz