Everything
is a beautiful pattern.
The singular blue sky gazing down,
the birds repeating song.
The leaves:
large, green bright;
thin, spiky, stretching;
their dappled sun and shadow stroking the path as I walk.
Everything is a beautiful pattern.
Those human made things:
the ordered lines of the wood fence,
the mish mash random of the pebbled wall,
the two green blocks hugged by red in the tennis courts,
the concrete slabs, the cobbled path.
Everything is a beautiful pattern.
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