“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 sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now and 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, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.”