Inherent like the color of eyes, beauty hides tucked away in every scene, every small and large vista.

Move slowly enough with eyes attentive and beauty of the mundane leaps out like caged beasts set free.

On a single blade of grass dwell whole worlds made of rain.

A windy day.  Choppy water.  A fallen tree.  Aquatic plants.  The dance of weak light from a party cloudy sky.

I stood mesmerized by wave after wave crashing against this log, the dichotomy of still water on one side and unsettled water on the other, enraptured of the sounds made by winds dancing about me as they pushed the lake to and fro, each breaker singing its own song as it ran headlong toward shore and did battle with every obstacle in its way.

Music heard and seen and felt permeated that time, that bit of shoreline upon which I stood.  I felt lucky to have witnessed it in all its glory.

The rural road that winds its way through the Piney Woods toward the family farm.  At the right times—especially dawn and dusk—this tiny lane becomes otherworldly.  Trees and brush close in from both sides, weak sunlight struggles to dance through the foliage, and a tiny, obscure one-lane road slithers through it on a journey into the heart of nature.

Times exist when all I want is to be still, stoic, serene, unyielding in the face of too much activity, unflinching in response to so many demands.  This often makes me think of what might be necessary to resist so much emotional and psychological carnage: make me a stone, a rock, an unmoving and unmoved thing that can resist the woes of the world.  How often I ponder what such calm might be like…

Sunrise at White Rock Lake.  Crepuscular rays stream through verdant woodlands and illuminate the beauty surrounding my favorite footbridge in this urban escape.