Art can be spectacularly beautiful, but even the most skilled, talented, visionary artist who specializes in realism cannot replicate the beauty of nature. Slivers of orange and pink and silver and grey woven among cottony white billows in the sky are not static. They transform as slowly as time and just as quickly. Watching the shapes in the sky morph from crisp, immaculately defined images into shadows that hide the secrets above them is a mesmerizing experience.
Lush. Verdant. Brilliantly colorful. Words are inadequate to describe what the eyes behold. Watching the day unfold is a pleasure that makes me immensely grateful for my eyesight.
Permitting oneself to appreciate the gifts of living is a far greater pleasure than refining complaints into sharp daggers of disappointment.
So many secrets to share with someone willing to be amazed by the complex simplicity of raw, incomplete perfection…even with its flaws and the cracks in its deep, deep veneer.
I don’t want to call myself a perfectionist because perfection is imperfection.
~ Ne-Yo ~