The entire day
was charged with the natural delight of endless, sheer existence. It
was visible.
Each detail, moreover, claimed attention, as though never seen
properly before; no longer dulled by familiarity, but shaking off its
"ordinary" appearance, proud to be looked at, naked and alive. The
rivulet ran on, but did not run away; the gravel paths, soft as rolled
brown sugar, led somewhere, but led in both directions, each of them
inviting; the blue of the sky did not stay "up there and far away,"
but dropped down close in myriad flakes, lifting the green carpet of
the lawn to meet it. The day seemed like a turning circle that changed
every moment to show another aspect of its gorgeous pattern, yet,
while changing, only turned, unable to grow older or to pass away.
There was something real at last, something that could be known,
enjoyed--something of eternity about it. It was real.
"Wherever has he got to?" exclaimed Judy, trying to pierce the
distances of earth and sky with distended eyes. "He can't be very far
away, because--I kissed him."
Tim, sitting beside her on the grass, felt the exquisite mystery of it
too.
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