Augsburg in August

One drizzling and chilly afternoon, when I was still in Germany, I was walking through a cobblestoned square that had either a statue or a fountain- – and running through the square was a little toddler with white-butter-yellow curls, probably 18 months old, chasing the pigeons. He would run in one direction and the birds would scatter while he shrieked with delight; the birds would land a few feet away and he would toddle in that direction, clapping his hands, still shrieking with delight, his mouth wide open and his head tilted back in pure exhilaration. His father stood close by watching and his older brother was in on the action too. I stood and watched for five or ten minutes, smiling, wondering that so much joy can make even pigeons beautiful.

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