Beauty
Dew glistened on the vibrant orange rose as the sky lightened and the night fled into the west before suddenly sparkling as if bejeweled with diamonds touched by the first light of the morning.
The wind traveled on it's journey stirring the plants and dirt as it swept over the precipice of a grand vista overlooking a forest of stark green trees.
Fragile crystals of ice gleamed in the light of the winter sun that shone down on a scene of pure white that covers everything and mutes every sound.
Arms reach around shoulders wracked with tears slowing the rain and turning back the clouds.
Hands reach down and help up tear-stained scrapped knees consoling and providing reassuring smiles all the way.
"I love you" is murmured for the first time in a gut wrenching plunge into the unknown.
What is beauty and where is it found? Is it in the eye of the beholder? Or is the flower that has never been seen and never will be seen still beautiful?
In a way beauty exists because we see it; because we make it. Without us a thing just is, beauty is something we add by observing. I think it is beautiful that we make our own beauty.
