The hillside is dotted with with white plum-trees like puffs of smoke, each of them filmy and dapples as a round cloud. At half-past five in the morning, under the dew and the slanting rays of sunrise, the young wheat is incontestably blue, the earth rust-red and the white plum-trees coppery pink. It is only for a moment, a magic delusion of light that fades with the first hour of day. Everything grows with miraculous speed. Even the tiniest plant thrusts upwards with all its strength.” - My Mother’s House