- The sun has completely risen now and is shining out over the waves, which are sweeping and pounding the beach. The sun is also falling on fields and woods.
- Now we're in the garden, where there are trees, ponds, flowerbeds, and greenhouses. There are also some birds singing. Hmm, that seems peaceful.
- Each bird is kind of doing its own thing while singing: one is tweeting away under a bedroom window, another is on a lilac bush, and another is on the edge of a wall.
- Apparently, each one is singing passionately, not really caring if his/her song clashes with that of another bird. So much for peaceful. This sounds like the world's worst alarm clock.
- The birds apparently take breaks from singing to fly down to the ground and use their beaks to pick at soft/wet/dead things laying around there. Ew—okay, definitely not very Zen.
- Now the birds are flying around a bit before perching again and staring down.
- The sea can be heard in the background, beating "like a drum" (4a.2). The narrator compares the waves to "a regiment of plumed and turbaned soldiers" (4a.2). Hmm, what's with the war imagery, and why "turbaned" warriors?
- Meanwhile, sometimes the birds' songs come together, and at other times they separate.
- Now we're inside "the room" (presumably the same one referred to in other chapters). The narrator describes the objects in the room and how the light entering affects them. For example, the white plate is now a lake, and the knife is a dagger made of ice.