down an uneven path, at the edge of the lake, I stop to look back,
getting a little poetic, a little idealistic, a little dreamy
about the millions of small examples of peace, of beauty, of the possible,
of simplicity in an increasingly complicated world, a world losing its rhyme.
It is a bridge, a bridge admiring itself in the water. If only we could do likewise,
to study our reflections and see peace, beauty, the possible, simplicity
and admire ourselves for all the right reasons, to retake the high ground
of love and laughter and care and compassion, to outweigh the despair of sighs.
The bridge is in Clumber Park, Nottinghamshire
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