And the glight of birds, the gulls and rooks and little brown wasvering things which flit out and al
ong the edge of the
chalk-pits, is once more refreshment to me, utterly untempered. A merle is singing in a bramble thic
ket; the dew has not
yet dried off the bramble leaves. A feather of a moonfloats across the sky;the distance sends forth
homely murmurs;the
sun warms my cheeks. And all of this is pure joy. No hawk of dread and horror keeps swooping down an
dbearing off the
little birds of happiness. No accusing consicience starts forth and beckibons me away from pleasure
. Everywhere is
supreme and flawless beauty. Whenther one looks at this tiny snail shell, marvelously chased and ma
rked, a very elf's
horn whose spen mouth is coloured rose;or gazes down at the flat land between here and the sea, wand
ering under the smile
of the afternoon sunlight, seeming almost to be alive, hedgeless, whth its many watching trees, and
silver gulls hovering
above the mushroom0coloured "ploughes", and Fieds green in manifold hues;whether one muse on this li
ttle pink daisy born so
out of time, or watches that velley of broen-rose-grey woods, under the drifting shadows of low-han
ging chalky clouds - all
is perfect, as only Nature can be perfact on a lovely day, when the mind of him who looks on her is
at reat.