By a "spring is dawn.All whiter than edge of mountains, here they were slightly lighted up by light. The clouds touched by a purple creep thin ribbons on sky.In summer is night.Words are not present, she is wonderful in a lunar pore, but also moonless darkness makes happy eyes, when numberless fire-flies rush about by each other. If один-два lightning-bug dim twinkle in darkness, it however it is delightful. Even during a rain - wondrous beautiful.In autumn - twilights.A sunset sun, giving up bright rays, approaches the indents of mountains. Crows, on three, on four, on two, hurry to the nests, is what sad charm! But yet sadder on the soul, when on sky grey geese quite little in appearance stretch a file. A sun will call, and all full inexpressible sorrow: noise of wind, ringing of cicadas.By a winter is an early morning.Fresh snow, there is nothing to talk, is wonderful, white-white hoarfrost too, but miraculously and frosty morning without snow. Hurriedly light the fire, bring in blazing coals, - so feel a winter! To midday a cold releases, and a fire in a round fire-pan goes out under the layer of ash, here that badly!.".