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The periwinkle patina on a past-it’s-prime pretty penny that smells of pungent pecuniary petrichor,

The swing-set that squeaks and squeals due to shear-force in the sanguine summer schoolyard,

The oscillating fan that is ostensibly an orbiting oasis in the warm weather,

The trills and triads the trickle plays when traipsing through its trapeze act to tap on a rock face.

These are minutiae, minute moments made of monuments to each momentous minute.