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| Photo by Craig Sargent |
To watch a leaf quivering in
the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping,
swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with
perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and
the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft
gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn)
tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it
was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was
the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.
Mrs. Dalloway
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