I’ve mused on life change and the why’s and wherefore’s connected with it. I’ve shared some of my favorite reads with you. I’ve declaimed on myth-busting and food. I’ve lighted on many a flower in the meadow of my curiosity, started a dialog on every topic that interests me – except one.
I’m astonished I left it so late.
How could something so close to my heart go unmentioned? Perhaps because it touches so deep.
Beauty of sound and beauty of silence.
Beauty of vision and beauty of being.
Beauty of feeling and beauty of knowing.
Like L.M. Montgomery’s character, Walter Blythe, ugliness hurts me. And yet I’ve seen ugliness so profound it achieves beauty.
I love beauty at all scales. Minute, pollen dusted across a lily petal, and vast, the spray of the Milky Way across our earth’s night sky. Trivial, the pattern of my blue and white tablecloth, and essential, the love in my husband’s eyes.
And yet . . . I appreciate beauty in silence more often than I speak of it.
What about you?
Blogging is a sort of speaking. Perhaps that’s why I’ve waited. Having waited, I find the words still sparse. I’ll leave you with a soupçon of beauty from the middle range – nothing startling or deep, merely a classic that’s nearly cliché: freshly fallen snow.