From the south a warm, gracious wind was blowing and white clouds were gathered in the west. Distant thunder rolled faintly and the village was scented with the perfume of opening buds and the moist black earth. White clouds coursed over the river and here the wind was damp and bitter with the smell of rotting leaves and wet wood. On the lower edge of the ploughed land, a haze was rising to drift over the hills. A skylark was singing over the road, and above the earth hung a proud and lofty sun.