"I know who he is," said an old raven sitting on a fence rail. Now, this raven was wise enough to know that we are all like little birds in the sight of the Lord, so he wasn't above speaking to the sparrows and answering their question.
"Yes, I know who the old man is. He's Winter, the old man of last year. He isn't dead, as the calendar says; no, he is guardian to little Prince Spring, who is coming. Yes, Winter rules here now. Ugh! The cold makes you shiver, doesn't it, you small creatures?"
"Yes," replied the smallest sparrow. "Didn't I tell you? The calendar is only a stupid invention of men, and isn't arranged according to nature. They ought to leave that sort of thing to us; we're born much more sensitive than they are."
So one week passed away; yes, almost two weeks went by. The forest was black, and the frozen lake still lay hard and stiff, looking like a sheet of lead. The clouds, like damp cold mists, lay brooding over the land, while the great black crows flew in long silent lines. It was as if nature were sleeping.
Then a sunbeam glided over the surface of the lake, and it shone like melted tin. The snowy blanket over field and hill did not glitter quite so coldly. But still the white form of King Winter sat, his gaze fixed unswervingly toward the south. He did not notice that the snowy carpet seemed to sink very slowly into the earth itself and that here and there little grass-green patches were appearing. But the sparrows crowded into these patches, chirping, "Peep! Peep! Is spring coming now?"
"Spring!" It resounded over the field and meadow and through the dark-brown woods, where the green moss was shining on the tree trunks. And through the air, from far away in the south, the first two storks came flying swiftly, carrying on their backs two lovely children, a little boy and a little girl. They greeted the earth with a kiss, and wherever they set their little feet, tiny white flowers pushed up from beneath the snow. Then the children ran hand in hand to the old man of ice, Winter, greeted and embraced him. At that moment they and he and all the field around them were hidden in a thick, damp mist that closed down like a dark, heavy veil. Then the wind rose gradually until it was roaring and drove away the mist with its heavy blast, so that the sun shone warmly, and Winter had vanished, while the beautiful children of spring on the throne of the year.
"That's what I call a new year!" cried the sparrows. "Now we'll again get our rights back and make up for the hard winter!"
Wherever the two children turned, bushes and trees put forth new green buds, the grass shot upward, and the cornfields turned green and became more and more lovely. And the little maiden strewed flowers all around. She carried them in her apron up before her, and it was always full of them; indeed, they seemed to grow there, for her lap was always full, however wantonly she tossed the flowers about. In her eagerness she scattered a drifting snow of blossoms over the apple trees and peach trees, so that they burst forth in full beauty before their green leaves had fully shown themselves.
Then she clapped her hands, and the boy clapped his, and great flocks of birds came flying - nobody knew where they came from - and all sang, "Spring has come!"
It was beautiful to behold. Many an aged grandmother came out of her doorway into the bright sunshine, gleefully gazing at the bright yellow flowers that dotted the fields just as they used to do when she was young. The world seemed young again to her, and she said, "It is a blessing to be out here today."
The forest still wore its dress of brown-green buds, but the fresh and fragrant bokar was already there. There were violets in abundance; anemones and primroses sprang up; and sap and strength were in each blade of grass. That grass was a marvelous carpet, on which no one could resist sitting, so the young spring couple sat hand in hand, and sang and smiled, and grew taller.
A mild rain fell down on them from heaven, but they scarcely noticed it, for the raindrops were mingled with their own tears of happiness. The bride and bridegroom kissed each other, and at that moment all the verdure of the woods was unfolded, and when the sun rose all the forest was green.
Hand in hand, the betrothed pair wandered under the fresh, hanging canopy of leaves, where the rays of the sun flickered through in lovely, ever-changing green shadows. What virgin purity, what refreshing balm there was in those delicate leaves! Clearly and quickly the brooks and streams rippled over the colored pebbles and among the velvety green rushes. All nature seemed to cry, "There is abundance, and there shall always be abundance!" And the lark caroled and the cuckoo sang; it was beautiful spring. But the willows kept woolly gloves over their blossoms; they were desperately careful of their tender buds, and that is too bad!
So the days and weeks went by, and the heat seemed to whirl down. The corn became more and more yellow as hot waves of air swirled through it. The great white water lily of the north spread its huge green leaves on the mirror surface of the lakes, and the fishes lingered in the shady spots beneath them. At the sheltered edge of the wood, where the sun beat down on the walls of the farmhouse, warming the blooming roses and the cherry trees laden with juicy black berries, which were almost hot from the fierce beams, there sat the lovely woman of summer. She it is whom we have seen as a child and as a bride.
Her gaze was fixed on the rising blue-black, heavy clouds which, in wavy outlines, were piling themselves up like mountains, higher and higher. Growing like a petrified, reversed ocean, they came from three sides, swooping toward the forest, where all sounds had been silenced as if by magic. Every breath of air was stilled; every bird was mute. A grave suspense hung over all nature; and in the highways and lanes people, on foot or horseback or in carriages, hurried toward shelter.