The weight of these beautiful things:
pool of sunlight among the trees;
scurrying shadows of April clouds;
scintillations on water flashing into my eyes;
brilliance of rime on a January morning footpath;
a blackbird’s notes spilling down;
magnificent blur of a kingfisher’s flight;
smell of lavender, of newly mown hay;
the sound of wind in the telegraph wires,
of children playing in the schoolyard.
The weight of these beautiful things is naught.
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