In spontaneous bursts of giggles and energy, she tumbles across the trampoline. In undisguised awe, she pauses to watch a baby. In undeniable fatigue, she cuddles and sighs against a strong shoulder until blissful sleep overtakes her. She is a celebration of Beauty.
The sparrow hops from the ground to the chair, tiny beak full of twigs. She views her perfect perch from below. In the blink of an eye, she rises and lights at the chosen place. The diligent and wise placement of her chosen resources puts the finishing touches on the nest of the future. The hummingbird appears suddenly as if out of nowhere. A myriad of colors suspended in mid air paints a delicate balance of grace and strength as it suckles the sweet nectar from the feeder. The bluejay dives sharply and swiftly from the gutter’s edge down to the ground. Its feathered tail is spread in dominance, spread with a brilliant hue with pride and confidence. Creatures, alike but different, are a celebration of Beauty.
Age lines their faces and impairs their bodies, but as they sit at their special table in the far corner of the coffee shop, age does not circumvent the love and adoration one has for the other. He wears clothes tattered and stained from time, suspenders more for decoration and comfort than for need. He arrives at the table first and he prepares the way. He sets out the picnic supplies. He sets her chair just so, placing the cushion against the back rest. Finally she joins him, having hobbled across the store with cane in hand. Her S-curved back forms a hump across her shoulders. She takes her place at the table in the chair he made ready for her. Her tiny feet dangles an inch above the floor. He fetches their cups of coffee. Quietly, at peace with each other and with the world, he reads today’s newspaper while she munches at her homemade sandwich. They are a celebration of Beauty.
He ambles down the sidewalk in the local neighborhood. The 80-degree spring temperatures do not hinder him, neither does the polypropylene splint on his left leg nor does the palsied left arm. He is a man on a mission; he is a man who survived a stroke. Life’s focus has been redirected, but he will not be denied life. He is a celebration of Beauty.
She walks briskly down the stretch of wet sand in the early morning hours. The sea gulls overhead join her in soaring to heavenly heights and calling out a language no one else can interpret. With the iPod loaded and the earphones firmly in place, her hand is lifted high as she sings praises in time with the music she hears in her ears and in her heart. She is a celebration of Beauty.
The home is settled for the night. The lights are turned low. The notes of smooth jazz tickle the auditory senses. The notes of smooth jazz refreshes the weary soul. With head laid back and legs outstretched, the head of household allows the presence of Peace to wash over the body, relaxing the knotted muscles and drawing the mind into the lull that all is well. The home and the homeowner are a celebration of Beauty.