The Wonder of Discovering Beauty
Beauty Whence Discovered
What ever happened to Beauty? Where does it come from? How do we
recognize and keep it? Is beauty created or discovered, or both?
What is meant by beauty? What is anyone's definition of beauty?
And why not go looking for beauty?
That is my quest. The quest for beauty; every day.
Bits and pieces of beauty can add up to the whole picture.
Beauty can be observed in so many ways, and missed so easily.
So what is beauty. It is that which pleases you. Aesthetically it
tells you that it is intrinsically good and true. It could be a sight,
a sound, or anything which can be but perceived, and appeals
to your sense of right, or happiness, or inner peace. Perhaps
it is something which has a sense of 'order'. Perhaps it is only
a concept or is merely abstract.
How about the word itself. How many words in the English or French
actually have three vowels sequentially aligned. And who can recollect the marvelous
way Bert (Dick Van Dyke) describes Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews) as bee-utiful, in the
classic movie? In other languages
the word sounds great as well: belleza, beautÚ, Sch÷nheit, bellezza,
schoonheid, beleza, skj°nnhet. The symbols for beauty in Chinese and Japanese
are beautiful. For example, observe the symmetry of the character for beauty:
and a beautiful life:
A flower is usually thought of as possessing beauty. Yet how fleeting
is a flower. They bloom every year, every season, every week or even
every day. But any one flower blossom lasts, to us, such a short
while. That beauty comes and goes, but in our memories is stored
a lifetime. That beauty we never forget. And many often strive to
revive those memories as often as possible. We grow flowers
merely for the enjoyment they bring us. Visually striking, flowers
are so colorful and radiant. They smell so sweet. When I think of beauty,
I often think immediately of flowers. Nature's compact definition of beauty
might be the perfect icon for the concept.
But what about sounds. Beauty to hear is more abstract, perhaps, than
to see or smell. When one hears music, right away, it starts to suggest
beauty. A singing voice may posses more beauty than a simple
speaking voice. The variation of tone, in a rhythmic fashion lends some
hint of composition which develops into a beautiful sequence.
Variation of an atomic theme in a regular pattern tends to be a simplified
definition of beauty.
Even now as I write these words, I perceive beauty all around me.
I occasionally look up from by screen to look out the window.
In winter, I see the sun break through the clouds. My peripheral vision
detects the change in the scene outside. The light increase immediately
distracts my attention, I look up this time to see the sun shining on the
bare trees. These trees most would consider beautiful in summer. I
find them beautiful all year round. The sunshine bounces off their bark
in radiant splendor, turning gray to brown and beaconing me to take
a walk amongst them. So now I go, knowing I'll soon return to this task,
once the beauty is observed, for now.
Upon return from my walk I am full of ideas. The only problem is: I
hope I can remember them all. In time I am confident I will. Briefly,
I will condense some of those thoughts here: After having been
slightly delayed by the awakening of my 8 year old daughter, I fixed
her pancakes for breakfast. This activity brought another source of
beauty, selfishly doing for others, because I gain enjoyment from
seeing their delight in the receiving. Note I don't say selflessly.
My daughter tells me I'm crazy, and laughs. What a delight.
Now the sun has returned again, bringing me back to my original train
of thought. As I embarked on a short walk on a warm winter's day, the
first day of the year, I find that the sun has again become obscured
by the clouds. Direct sunlight for me has always been a source of
pure gladness. With its absence I feel a slight sense of wanting, but
now the beauty takes over with my knowledge that it will return.
I distribute pieces of bread for the birds and deer, again rejoicing
in my doing for others, and proceed on my walk.
The trail is damp and wet, but feels good under foot. I walk between
a patch of clubmoss, a beautiful source of green on an otherwise
gray and brown day. The terrain is hilly and wooded, just like I like
it. Aha, the sun returns this soon, as if it were a passing hole in
the clouds, floating slowly across the adjoining side of the ridge I
traverse, across a row of white pine trees, generously illuminating
the woods with a radiant glow, sharpening the aspects of the trees and
casting shadows across the ground, with parallel lines converging upon
infinity. And when that hole in the clouds has passed, I see the light
too pan down the ridge and off into the distance across a field then
out of my sight, only to have another return soon to recreate the
entire animated display as if just for me.
A huge oak tree, long since living, had previously fallen across my
trail, and I know to get around it I have to stray up a steep
embankment and around the large area of fallen sticks and trees which
were taken down as well. Yet in this divergence I find beauty in
thinking of the ways I can re-route my trail. At the top I stop to
observe more of what's around me. Standing perfectly still I hear a
bluejay squawking loudly, and the calls of a chickadee and a
nuthatch. Even in winter the beautiful sounds of nature never fail to
Now I feel a cool breeze blowing softly across my cheeks, and smell
the freshness in the air. I make note to add two more perceptions to my
catalogue of sensations. Is it beautiful to feel a fresh breeze on one's
skin? When sitting at a desk doing one's work, or inside one's home,
is it not a gentle diversion to imagine oneself with a pure
invigorating draft of the clean fluid we call air? I take one more
deep breath and continue on with my quest for beauty, hoping not to
miss a single bit of it.
Soon I glance up, again alerted by a subtle movement acknowledged by
my peripheral vision, to see first one then multiple deer bounding
through a group of hemlock trees across the valley. The most charming
aspect of a deer is its exquisite white tail extended to the sky as it
leaps away. In my mind I wonder why the deer dislike me so, they
always run away when I approach, but my heart tells me that this is
only their instinct. So even the running away of deer brings beauty to
me. If deer never ran away I'd hardly ever see those beautiful white
tails. So I take comfort in knowing that their instinctual fear of man
will always deliver to my eyes a beautiful sight.
I now hear a hawk in the distance, toward the edge of the field. I
note that the other bird sounds have disappeared. How do I find beauty
in this knowledge. At first I try to make an instant correlation: is
it the arrival of a hawk that makes the other birds grow quiet? Is
there a statistical connection to this event? Or am I trying to bring
beauty to the data by making a rule in my mind which might not exist?
Is there beauty in extrapolating data that my senses have perceived?
Does my mind find harmony in cataloging all things in a way to fit
defined patterns or rules? Can there also be beauty in realizing that
things may just simply be coincidence? Is it Correlation or Coincidence?
There are two realities, the real reality, and the model in one's mind
of that reality. Trying to keep these two in synchronism is often a
feat replete with beauty. And sometimes its beautiful to forget all
our rules and preconceived notions and simply see the world
through a child's eyes.
Aha. Now I find I have forgotten a few of the topics I was going to
write about. They are still there, I am sure, but I just can't find
the link to them which lets me bring those thoughts to the surface of
my consciousness. I find that at times I store things in memory in a
graphical manner. So on my walk, at each juncture or feature, I had a
certain topic I wanted to discuss. For the first part of my trip I
have been able to recall each of those items. For instance, at
hemlocks I recalled the deer; at the juncture of two streams at the
halfway point of my trail I recollected the sound of the hawk, and the
point I wanted to make about coincidence versus correlation. The next
stop on my journey through the woods I have a cognitive point of
association which has become temporarily disconnected. At this place I
now search my memory for the topic I wanted to discuss. I visualize
the aspects of this locale. There is a fallen tulip poplar tree which
I walk upon, as if it were part of the trail.
There are wild grape vines
stretched in triangular fashion because of the falling of this
tree. There is beyond that a creek with several tiny waterfalls. Most
would not call them waterfalls, as they are only about 6 inches tall.
The waterfalls brings back one of my notions to portray: Imagination.
Would most people find beauty in a babbling brook or creek: yes. Would
they imagine a portion of that creek to be a waterfall: likely no, but
hopefully yes. It is with imagination that we can mould alluring bits
of nature into grand canyons of beauty. And not just nature per se,
but with anything we can think of. Building beauty where it may not
readily be seen is fitting endeavor for anyone. Make beauty.
One way to make beauty is with photography or art. What does a picture
or painting give you. A snapshot frozen in time of beauty. In real
time one sees beauty, but it is hardly ever frozen to be viewed by
many for more than a passing instant. Usually once you have passed it
by, you have only your memory to keep it. With a picture or painting
it is preserved and can be viewed in a context which freezes that
beautiful thought for all. It goes back to the notion that there is a
model of reality. The picture fills in as the model in an 'external to
the mind' extension.
There is beauty in truth. The truth is simple. Simplicity is beautiful.
Anything but the truth forms artificial complexity. Nature can be sometimes
be complex, but in that complexity there tends to be a whole form composed of
There is beauty in humour. Watch a person laughing. They tend to be jubilant
with their jocularity. With humour we become filled with a renewed buoyance
which seems to instantly brighten our nature and bring healthy exuberance.
When I hear someone instantly burst out laughing, even if I don't see the
humour or get the joke, I nevertheless instantly feel a beautiful joy which
brings a smile to my face.
There is beauty in grace. Grace has always been, to me, one of those
great words which have always had a somewhat fuzzy definition. I sort-of
get what it means, but I always have to refer back to the dictionary
definition to fully jog my memory.
1. Seemingly effortless beauty or charm of movement, form, or proportion.
2. A characteristic or quality pleasing for its charm or refinement.
3. A sense of fitness or propriety.
1. A disposition to be generous or helpful; goodwill.
2. Mercy; clemency.
5. A favor rendered by one who need not do so; indulgence.
6. A temporary immunity or exemption; a reprieve.
7. Graces Greek & Roman Mythology. Three sister goddesses, known in Greek
mythology as Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia, who dispense charm and beauty.
1. Divine love and protection bestowed freely on people.
2. The state of being protected or sanctified by the favor of God.
3. An excellence or power granted by God.
9. A short prayer of blessing or thanksgiving said before or after a meal.
10. Grace Used with His, Her, or Your as a title and form of address
for a duke, duchess, or archbishop.
11. Music. An appoggiatura, trill, or other musical ornanment in the
music of 16th and 17th century England.
Memories can be beautiful.
I have some great memories of
walks I took when I worked on the North Side of Pittsburgh.
I would walk over past the Carnegie Library, then past
the old Buhl Planetarium, and finally past the old
Post Office Building, which is now the Children's Museum.
I simply love the architecture of those old buildings. The
planetarium has quotes inscribed, as if chiseled, on
the sides of the building. One quote from the bible is still
visible, although slightly obscured by the new interconnecting
modern building which is part of the new Children's Museum
complex; "There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon,
and another glory of the stars; for one star differeth from another
star in glory."
I had been reading that quote all the time, over and over,
and every time I read it I always thought it was beautiful.
With memories and imagination, a quote like that brings
forth glorious images of the cosmos.
Sometimes I would walk further on past the beautiful old Roman
Catholic Church and on to West Park which encompasses the National Aviary.
The trees of this park are all grand and majestic. Many of them have
labels on them, like elm, beech and locust. I often would look for
a chestnut tree, but found none. The aviary building is mostly glass
and I like walking by it to see the birds which they keep fenced in
along the outside. Of particular interest was always the Andean
Condors, there are three very large and beautiful birds there year round.
At my new work location next to Mellon Park near Shadyside I also
like to refresh my memory with lunchtime walks. Anytime I go I
always think it is a refreshing day for a walk, and wonder why
I don't go more often. One day I encountered
flocks of black birds (I'm not sure if they were 'blackbirds')
flying in formation from tree to tree. I risked
looking directly up at them as they did their
aerial circular/elliptical formations from tree to tree.
Then I went across Penn to the old Herb garden
which was part of the old Mellon Mansion. In the 1940's, the
mansion was taken down and most of the marble and ornate materials
were salvaged and donated for use in the construction of a beautiful
Mount Saint Peter in
New Kensington. The preservation of
beauty was made possible in this instance by the generous donation and
use of these materials to build a
At the herb and rose garden I paused to observe and
sense the beauty around me.
I think there is beauty even in winter. The herbs from
that garden are wonderful to see. The air was so
fresh, and the aroma of the remaining herbs like
the lavender, and there was sage as well, was
exquisite! My nose told me of the presence of
the lavender without even seeing it.
Travel to new places can be beautiful.
Around 1981, when I was 22 years young,
I went with a friend to Europe. He was
originally from Romania, and so we went there too.
At the time they were behind the iron curtain. We arrived at
the border after a pleasant trip through Hungary at around
Midnight. They detained us there at the border for about 3 hours,
prior to finally accepting our previously obtained visas and letting us
proceed into the country. For a young fellow like myself, at the time,
it was a really scary experience, but one that I would not have passed up.
Most of those long hours I spent
in the car, alone, waiting, and wondering what the heck kind of dilemma
we had driven ourselves into. Most of that time
my companion, Simon, was not in the car with me, although he
would return occasionally to grab something out of his backpack.
Most of the time he was in the station doing his 'wheeling and
dealing' and whatever else he had to do to get us in. I found out
afterwards, that in communist countries, you have to grease the
wheel to get anything done. Apparently bribery was not frowned upon
as heavily as it was and is in our country. He had to bribe the border guards
into letting us in. I don't recall what all he gave them, but I
do remember that one item was a nice pen that had an LCD
clock built into it. Apparently they had never seen anything
quite like that before, and apparently he came prepared for this
eventuality. He was older and wiser than I. The other truly
frightening aspect was that we could actually literally see the
huge fence that was the border. It was just as you see
in those movies, with huge towers with armed guards
on top of them. Of course one knew that under normal circumstances
they would not bother you, but still one would get the chilling sense
of foreboding that this was not the kind of situation one would like
to encounter too often. Try to imagine how intimidating this would be,
to see these guards with their machine guns in person, and to be
detained in the wee hours of the night for such a long period of time.
The country itself was quite charming, once we got in. And there were
plenty of beautiful natural scenes which I did enjoy at the time.
But what about the beauty of the one story I recall the most. At the time
I might not have considered that particular part of the trip to be
full of glory. But today I would characterize this as a great travel
experience because it makes a great story, and for that reason I
suppose I have remembered it best. So one does not always see
the beauty at the time one encounters it. It may take hindsight to
ascribe it as such.
There are a few other stories of Romania which comes back vividly to my
mind. Traveling with a companion who is from the country you are
visiting certainly has its advantages, you see and hear things you
wouldn't normally experience otherwise. I was told by Simon and all
of his former pals, back in his hometown of Timisoara, that in
Communist countries, the biggest problem for many of the people was
boredom. Communism did indeed provide for most people, but limited
most. So it wasn't strictly survival that was the problem.
There was little ownership, so everyone was either on a farm
or in an apartment. There existed little incentive to do better,
because there was no reward for it. They all thought that the most
wonderful thing of all about America is capitalism. It was refreshing
to hear them say that. They all envied us because of our liberties.
They envied our opportunities to work and be rewarded for that
work. This is one other reason, they told me, why people drink
so much under that political system, because if there is no
incentive, and there is depression and the like.
There also was no environmentalism because there was no wealth, and
thus the environment in those countries is in much worse shape than
Then there was the lost weekend.
This story also happened in the country of
Romania on the same trip. My friend Simon went to visit an old
friend to reminisce, and left me with a friend of his who did not
speak English. So his friend wants to show off his local
town to the 'American'. He didn't speak much English.
And of course I didn't speak any Romanian. We ended up
buying a bottle of vodka, went to a college and ended up
in a girl's dorm. After finishing off the bottle the next thing
I knew is we awoke in the dorm with the headmistress
screaming at us and we high tailed it out of there. Nothing
happened. That's it in a nutshell. Nothing to be proud of
but quite humourous. I was quite naive and went wherever
I was lead. Simon's friend was obviously having fun with
the naive American. Simon of course was worried sick
because we were supposed to meet later that night, not
the next day. I had the car. He told me he imagined I
was locked up in some prison somewhere being interrogated
by the communists. Does this story have quite the 'beauty'? It may not
be fraught with beauty, but the story itself is quite interesting.
A beautiful day
How often does one ever have a beautiful day. To get up in the
morning, feeling great, to travel through your day enjoying every
aspect and feature the day serves up, and to put the day to bed with
equal joy, would be one possible characterization of a beautiful day. With
such a definition, however, one might allow slight deviations in
parts of their day to hinder the entire notion. Depending on your
outlook, one might translate the day as being beautiful, good, or bad,
simply based on the turning of a few critical moments at some point
along the way. Is the glass half full or half empty. This is the kind
of metric which can be applied to a day as well. If one considers the most
beautiful semblances encountered in a day and combines them together
into an abridged package, a superb amalgamation is the result.
It's not always easy to simply take this advice and represent a day as
only the best pieces tied up in a knot. Sometimes one has to make a
few good pieces for themselves. Don't just sit around and take too
much of the bad part of a day, without trying to consider the good or
if drastic measures are needed, find the good somewhere else. Get out
of your environment, and go somewhere else for a while, just to give
your day a piece of beauty. And don't forget, its all around you, only
for you to find it. "Beauty to find in so many ways, if we could but
Walking the Dog
While exiting the building where I work yesterday, on an otherwise gray
and dreary day, I happened to look up and across the avenue to view a
strikingly blond woman in a pink coat and brown gloves walking what looked
to be a golden retriever. The beautiful large brown dog chose that exact
moment to run along the sidewalk extending the modern leash with
perhaps three times its body weight with a full-power lunge. Even with
the long-line retracting leash, the lung yanked her arm taunt and body
forward, and she hopped a step or two in conclusion to the maneuver
initiated by her leader. My next glance revealed the dog stooping to do
what was perhaps the reason for the walk, and the blond trudging gingerly
through the wet layer of snow laid three days before. She was applying
a layer of plastic to her hand, and her shoulder length blond hair was flopping
about her face. That was my last glimpse, and I could only
assume the rest. A few minutes later when my shuttle drove by they were
gone, but I was busy thinking of how to write up the encounter, because
it brightened my day, and deserved a mention.
Now, to me, it seems quite an interesting coincidence that I just
happened to exit the building at just that instant, and look up at
just the moment the dog chose to make a dash for his favorite spot.
The beauty of his motion, caught by my eye for only an instant, but
persisted in my short term memory, and combined with a thousand other
similar memories to produce a long term mnemonic. Instant anticipation
that the girl would be effected by the charge gushed forth via processes
of my mind. The line went taunt, her arm went straight, and her body
lurched after a momentary latent period causing her to regain her
balance. Certain aspects of this scene somehow allow me to replay it
in my mind's eye in slow motion with glad introspection.
By observing this event, have I affected its course, perhaps in some
subtle and unobvious way. The simple and immediate observation which
took place as it happened, for a period of about 30 seconds, and even
while I continued on my way down the opposite side of the avenue,
seemed to have no impact at all. I did not even see the girl look
across at me, I wasn't that near, and her attention was quite absorbed
with her task at hand. Some might view the encounter as a situation
fraught with possibilities. Others would only view it with little
regard and quickly move along. I, however, found beauty in style, form,
substance, motion, action, interaction, and physics; to me the measure
of the situation was the degree to which it was fraught with beauty.
So if I made no perceivable dent in the scene as it occurred, perhaps
through my contemplation and discourse I have or will some day
influence some facet of this affair, either directly or indirectly.
Several weeks passed without further notice. Then one morning,
as I arrived oh-so early for work I viewed them again. Several
things had changed: it was night rather than day; the girl was wearing
a dark rather than pink coat; she wore pajama bottoms below the coat,
and didn't seem the least bit embarrassed by the myriad of cars which
drove by; the dog and the physics remained the same. In fact, I almost
didn't recognize them this time round, because of the change in style,
but the dog was the key, his color and his leap with almost as much
reckless abandon proclaimed their true identity. I stopped by my building
to observe his return to the same spot, completing his daily ritual. In this
scene some of the original style was unclothed, but the substance
Is beauty a fad to be resurrected at the turn-of-the-century,
or like a style, be in at one time, and out at another?
I think it is more likely that beauty is timeless.
Beauty might have its detractors, but it is also absolute,
and exists in spite of all that. Anyone can recognize beauty, but
who is devoted to creating beauty? If a dictator can recognize beauty,
but leaves a horrible legacy then the detractors say "see". They
perhaps don't grasp that all beauty exists and should be appreciated
fully. If a person who has become evil sees beauty as beautiful, that
does not make it any less beautiful.
But beauty transcends more than all that. History may have lessons
both good and bad. I think perhaps that some
see beauty, but because they cannot posses it
they try to ruin it for others. That's too bad. The next
best thing to creating beauty is to conserve it, and to share it.
But we have to avoid destroying it.
We call them evil who destroy it consciously and directly. But it can
be eroded less consciously and indirectly as well. In that respect
perhaps most if not all of us are blameworthy to some degree.
But it is never too late to recognize, appreciate, preserve and create beauty.
Look up: Sycamore trees in winter
How many people get depressed or sad in winter because of the weather
and conditions outside? What are you missing. You are missing the
beauty that still exists out there, but is harder to grasp. It may be
cold, colourless and drab, but there is beauty there, nevertheless,
and alwaysthemore. Just look at the Sycamore trees, if you have them
near you. All of the rest of the trees I would still characterize as
beautiful, even in winter, but the Sycamore trees out shine them
all. You just can't deny it. They have lost their giant leaves, which
aren't necessarily the nicest of leaves, so in summer if you were a
sycamore tree you might feel inferior. But in winter it is now your
time to shine. The other trees are sort of a dull drab gray or brown,
but the sycamores have a beautiful white bark, especially as you
ascend the trunk to the upper places. Just look up. Perhaps if you
walk all day just looking at your feet, which if you are walking in
the woods might be good advice, so that you don't trip over a root or
fallen branch, but you must resist that urge and look up at some of
that beauty just above you. Whoever endowed you with two sharp eyes to
perceive perhaps left out maybe one more to look skyward. But
seriously the times I find myself looking up, especially at nature,
are the most joyous. The white bark of the sycamore is a great sight to
see in winter, so go see it. I've tried to photograph it, and that
looks nice, but without the effect of walking around or even driving
by one of these great trees, you don't get the full effect. In Pittsburgh
old sycamores line many of the roads, but the younger ones in the parks and
woods outshine these and deserve a look. One of these days I'll find a
way to ascend one of these great beauties to try to get a close up
photo of the white bark, just to see how that would turn out.
I have seen beauty, and sometimes it takes the form of snow white.
This kind of beauty is hard to photograph, as it is either moving all
about in a storm, or gleaming in the reflected light. It often takes
the form of movement and the sounds of the wind blowing in fits and
puffs, first one direction, then another, alternating in irregular
radii; and often, for a moment, seems to stand still. The snow betrays
the unseen nature of the cold air; between the sounds of the wind and
the observations of the snow, one beholds a certain visual nature of
the fluid all around. Like an engineer's scientific experiment, the
air is laden with regularly placed markers which, if observed and
recorded, could tell the dynamics of the fluid known as air. No longer
merely invisible, felt on the cheeks and now suddenly seen.
Often I would sit and observe the blowing snow illuminated by a lamp
post in the early hours of the morning. Sitting back and listening to
a Mozart Symphony in my car, I would simply enjoy the dancing particles
going back and forth in the beam up above my position. How long would
one partake in such an activity, occupying the senses with these
simple aspects which are beautiful.(?) Often people are in too much of
a hurry to do so, they glance at the sight, but exit the car and go in
to work, having missed a chance to burn a more lasting impression of a
marvelous chunk of beauty. What else is life worth living for?
One Truly Splendid Slice of Beauty
As I was writing my 'Ode to Beauty' (it keeps changing
names) I was often thinking of including another aspect
of beauty I have previously omitted. I tried to keep it
'above board' for a general audience. But without including
the utmost irresistibly indelibly joyful facet yet not
revealed, I'm cheating everyone of the one truly splendid
slice of beauty which ought not be overlooked, lest one
might have not spoken of beauty at all and not done it
justice. My google email server is just swimming in emails
where I've touched upon this subject again and again, in
subtle and coy flirtatious manners which transcend the general
and target the specific feelings which gather momentum from
the true meaning of that underlying radius of beauty. The radius
might just encompass 360 degrees of the whole when considered.
Sum up all of the aspects one might think of when considering
beauty, and one might not yet have a sum total which comes close
to the feelings of beauty elicited by this heretofore unmentioned
expression of beauty. The countenance and bearing of the form of
beauty comes from abstract feelings felt deeply yet concrete in their
effect on my behaviour when I am under its spell. And the three
hundred and sixty degrees of influence this infectious affect has
over me is only described in two dimensions as complete, yet one
has to go into three and four dimensions to fully understand the
true influence it has. A circle becomes a sphere, and the sphere in
time revolves around from an initial infatuation of a youngster into a
full fledged powerful emotion not unlike passion described by ardent
So how best to articulate this characteristic of beauty? It's hard to
put down in so many words. The previous paragraph simply flowed from
my mind through my fingers into words almost effortlessly. But now I
must pause to organize my thoughts more succinctly to provide an
artful expression. What semblance of beauty is felt so deeply, and at
the same time is so difficult to describe. It has two parts. One is
the feeling itself; and the harder part to proclaim is the revelation
divulging the condition. It is affection. Synonyms include
amore, ardor, attraction, attachment, care, closeness, concern,
crush, desire, devotion, emotion, endearment, feeling, fondness,
friendliness, friendship, good will, hankering, heart, inclination,
itch, kindness, liking, love, passion, predilection, propensity,
regard, sentiment, shine, soft spot, solicitude, tenderness, warmth,
weakness, yen, and zeal.
And zeal is what I've had. Enthusiastic devotion to a cause, ideal, or
goal and tireless diligence in its furtherance. Yet patience with
pleasant and steady happy friendly un-expectancy. Never pushing more
than a subtle word and relishing only in a knowledge of mutual
simpatico smiling subtleties known or unknown, yet felt deliciously.
And the whole world of first impressions stemming from this
proclamation often leads the hearer to retreat from its source. Only a friendly
exuberant impression is intended, yet sometimes the opposite
reaction arises. But the truly nice counterpoised response is to
embrace the knowledge in no more nor less a fashion as would be
the response without having gained said information. Accept it
in a vacuum, as one would simply have greeted a new friend,
without mistrust of intentions. Giving joyous welcome with little
uncertain doubt would be beautiful.
But this is the ideal. And I have been lucky enough to have seen it:
And so that none feel I'm the first to ever visit this subject,
refer to a beautiful poem "Ode To Beauty," by Ralph Waldo Emerson,
Who gave thee, O Beauty!
The keys of this breast
Sometimes beauty takes the form of spring! Spring has finally sprung,
and now I've been spending more of my time riding my bike, in long
country hours, and photographing splendid scenes in nature. There
becomes, under these nice conditions, less time for writing...
-Douglas A. Bauman, 2005