A spring tune by Snufkin

One calm and cloudless evening, towards the end of April, Snufkin found himself far enough to the north to see still-unmelted patches of snow on the northern slopes.
He had been walking all day through undisturbed landscapes, listening to the cries of the birds also on their way northwards, home from the South.
Walking had been easy, because his knapsack was nearly empty and he had no worries on his mind. He felt happy about the wood and the weather, and himself. Tomorrow and yesterday were both at a distance, and just at present the sun was shining brightly red between the birches, and the air was cool and soft.
“It’s the right evening for a tune,” Snufkin thought. A new tune, one part expectation, two parts spring sadness, and for the rest just the great delight of walking alone and liking it.
He had kept this tune under his hat for several days, but hadn’t quite dared to take it out yet. It had to grow into a kind of happy conviction. Then he would simply have to put his lips to the mouth-organ, and all the notes would jump instantly into their places.
If he released them too soon, they might get stuck crossways and make only a half-good tune, or he might lose them altogether and never be in the right mood to get hold of them again. Tunes are serious things, especially if they have to be jolly and sad at the same time.
But this evening Snufkin felt rather sure of his tune. It was there, waiting, nearly full-grown– and it was going to be the best he ever made.
Then, when he arrived in Moominvalley, he’d sit on the bridge rail and play it, and Moomintroll would say at once: “That’s a good one. Really a good one.”

A fragment from Tove Jansson’s book ”Tales from Moominvalley”