There’s beauty all around.
Rain patterns streaming down the window pane.
A warm fleecy towel after a shower.
A lone maple leaf clinging to the twig.
Last year’s milkweed weathered and brown.
The gentle velvet face of my 99 year old friend, whose beauty I keep close since time is short.
Red pin cherry bushes in the snow. Frost art on winter glass.
Beauty is the full moon skimming the trees and the morning sun fingering the cold ground.
The smell of coffee and the lush dark hair of my black Lab as she comes close for petting, comforting us both.
Beauty is a pair off slip on shoes next to the door, pointed in the right direction.
Jeans with the perfect fit.
Beauty is a hair-cut on the 5th day, when it’s as close to perfection as one could wish.
Beauty is in my cats’ inquisitive, cheeky, whiskered faces.
A rusted-out Farmall H tractor near the edge of the woods.
The face in the mirror which more and more resembles my late mother, who also made lemon meringue tarts I can still taste 40 years later.