Category: Poetry

Beauty is that quiet messenger of grace that both startles and reassures. Whether an ordinary apple resting on a kitchen counter or scenes flashing from a train window, beauty stops me, makes me whisper, Yes. This!

Let comfort come like the prayer of a goddess, / a great sacramental surrender, a promise / that quiet will blossom, that comfort come.

Beauty interrupts and disrupts routine as it slows me down and suspends me in its force field. Beauty holds my senses, heart, or mind hostage. The most powerful beauty demands all three.

I need beauty in my surroundings. I crave art, and spaciousness. I need light and windows and the play of sun and wind on leaves to feel that my spirit is alive. I need to be close to visual art.

Endlessly-altered view from my window; phrase of Chopin from the piano in a house I walk past; touch of the salt air on my cheek from a southerly breeze; fragrance of something delicious baking next door; first sip of my morning cup of tea—the supply knows no end.