Elizabeth Bowen. Death of the heart (№ 415518)

... The first hour of spring hits just about five in the evening, this autumn comes in the early morning, but spring - at the end of a winter day. The air, before darkening, becomes denser, begins to pulsate with a strange white light, and the veil of blackness does not fall, as if something out of the ordinary happened. Maybe there are still no sunsets, and the buds on the branches have not yet swollen, but the senses have already been given a sign, a sign that is barely perceptible, but so reliable that it seems that this is not a sign at all, but a movement of the soul. And from this everything that was in the heart awakens.