I've started reading some of the children's literature that I missed during the first childhood and I've run into some unexpected writing, an example of which you will find below. This is the beginning of the last chapter of Winnie the Pooh by A. A. Milne.
- One day when the sun had come back over the Forest, bringing with it the scent of May, and all the streams of the Forest were tinkling happily to find themselves their own petty shape again, and the little pools lay dreaming to the life they had seen and the big things that they they had done, and in the warmth and quiet of the Forest the cuckoo was trying over his voice carefully and listening to see if he liked it, and the wood-pigeons were complaining gently to themselves in their lazy comfortable way that it was the other fellow's fault, but it didn't matter very much; on such a day as this Christopher Robin whistled in a special way he had, and Owl came flying out of the Hundred Acre Wood to see what was wanted.
Good stuff.
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