And Lijah Corey, heavy, stumbles out again into the sun-shined street from the old Ship Inn where Dahlia still disapproves, and sees, in sudden Springshine, unexpected beauty in the smoothness of the cobbles and the lightness of the late morning sky that lifts his scarred heart from the darkness of the bitter pub. Soft golden limestone, slated roofs, lightly sooted, hurrying steps, muttered sorrys, unexplained missions, weave and form into a cloth of greater richness and quality than each single smoke-soaked part. Lijah takes it all in with tired brown eyes and sees the warm welcoming arms of home instead of the cold hardness of stone and the choking clogging dirt of industry.
LIJAH COREY : There is beauty in the world.
And he thanks God, and smiles at the bright blue sky, and lightly and gracefully makes his way home, away from the Welfare, away from the Ship Inn as the people hurry and push past him on their way to work or home or shopping or something. And he sings a hymn of peace softly to himself as he wends his way.
LIJAH COREY : Beauty is in everything
In the feathers on the magpie's wing
In the curl of the snail's shell
In the watery grip of the silver swell
O everything that my God has made
Is as precious to Him as finest jade
And I should love it with all my heart
Even if it seems to be without art
~
Beauty is in everything
Making all God's creation sing
And if I love creation with all my heart
I can find my place and play my own part
In bringing peace to this dark world
I will see like a banner unfurled
All the peace and beauty God has given me
~
His voice rattles off the hard stone walls barely muffled by soot. It is given a wide berth.
A passer-by tuts to themselves as they go by, staccato.
Others take up the rhythm without knowing.
But others hum Lijah's tune.
And they go on to smile and slow and relax in the spring sunshine warming the city's heart, although the soot-laden air remains cool: the real heat is in furnaces, not dirty streets.