There wouldn't be any winds, they would be zephyrs.

The skies would all be made out of the softest and finest of blue satin and any little clouds that floated before 'em would be made of white satin of the same quality.

The nights would be clear with the most wonderful stars that ever shone.

Great new stars would come out for the first time, and twinkle for me, and the man in the most silvery moon known in the history of time would grin down at me and say without words: 'St.Clair, old fellow, this is your week of peace, everything has been fixed for you, so make the most of it.' And then I'd wander on.

The birds would sing to me and every one of 'em would sing like a prima donna.