The brook was swollen in the park, and rivulets ran down the footpath. Water collected in every dip and hollow, so that everywhere was full of shifting, silvery streams. These lichen encrusted twigs lay half submerged, the palest green which almost shimmered in the pearly light.
I had decided to stop taking pictures, to stop being the women who crouches down over puddles in the rain; who puts her fingers into the mud to rearrange twigs just because they are looking strangely beautiful... but look how exquisite they are!
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