When, after the cool and the rain, you take out the warm blanket—only to toss it aside as the clear blue morning begins to sweep over the horizon . . .

. . . and you go out and see the berries doing their best  to delight . . .

. . . and you find that the rice and the sky are complementing and complimenting each other . . .

. . . and you notice the cherry fish swimming up to the surface . . . wait a minute, I was feeling so happy I got a bit delirious for a second there—that’s not a cherry fish swimming up toward the surface—just look at how those long and narrow fins angle back—that’s a cherry fish plunging down into the coral . . .

. . . and you step into the woods, and the sun slants in through the canopy and sets a chestnut aglow (of course, reminding it of how it has evolved from sea urchins) . . . and then when the shine suddenly rips in a little stronger . . .

. . . and the chestnut remembers that long before its ancestors dwelled on an ocean floor, they were exploded from a star—they were stars . . .

. . . and then, when you notice that the sight of all those fields of cut rice have driven the sparrows mad, and they gather, get into formation, and glance off to the east, in an expression of gratitude . . .

. . . you might, too . . . for this is the sort of day that you might discover that your little buddy, Fuji-kun, has gotten out of bed with his little cap on. Of course, it’s a tad bit colder where he sleeps.

Uh-huh.