How do we define beauty? What makes me stop and look? Is it something special about the “thing” or is it the delight within experiencing the moment? Does the experience strike me into awareness — or do I recognize beauty because I am aware?
Why is it the gossamer labor of yesterday’s spider, left to only catch the morning dew, can take my breath away when I notice it glistening in the sunshine from my porch steps? What special prompt elicits me to notice it?
Why, on a seemingly random evening, does the melodic repertoire of the mockingbird pierce my heart? Or the busybody flitting and chittering of a wren arrest my focus? How is it the chorus of crickets slowly adjusting to the cool night air rocks me into serenity?
What is it about a toddler’s shy smile or the sparkle in a grizzly old man’s eye that can reframe my day? Why should some greenery and a few splashes of color rooted in the earth at my feet captivate me like twinkling stars light years away? What is it within a cloudless sunset on a brisk autumn eve that can hold me as gently, assuredly and contentedly as a babe in a warm blanket?
A puddle in the alley reflects the heavens: the cycle of life on earth, the harmony of the universe even, disinterestedly awaiting recognition and the unveiling of my awareness.
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Writing offers an opportunity to clarify my thoughts and feelings. Often these relate to my art and may offer insights about my work. I learn from engaging with others and welcome comments.