Category: Poetry

The full moon rises behind the western span, dressed in the amazing Bay Lights. The bay itself is suddenly silver, painted by the Goddess Herself and the breath is sucked out of us. Beauty should be divine.

Beauty is ubiquitous, and felt at least as much as seen, if not more so. It is the stuff of stoppage and revelation. It is anything or anyone that makes me cease what I am doing, take notice, and become awash with joy, intrigue, allure, wonder, and admiration.

When I think of beauty, I first imagine natural images: bluebirds bathing in the feeder, cirrus clouds scribbling a blue sky, maples bursting into autumn flame.

I am drawn to what is creative or unseen, versus the typical standard, a different way of seeing, or saying, or moving, a different way of touching someone or exciting them. Beauty is the ability to see beyond. It is in wanting to look below to the pulse. Beauty is the struggle to contemplate the heart.

A rose is pretty. We admire the velvet petals as they embrace each other. We touch it or smell it. A rose in the snow is prettier because we see warmth in the cold.