As I pass through check-out lines, I see evidence of our cultures limited notion of beauty, with it's deification of the unmarred, slender, frizzless, lineless ease of youth. We internalize these messages but seldom seem to ask ourselves on a foundational level if that has been our experience.
I see beauty in the bud, fresh with promise. It's easily discerned in that springtime rush. But it is no less apparent in life's fading from fullness, when the passage of time is discernible in the history on the surface of a tree, a face, a stone, a faded bloom.
In that wide embrace, nothing is outside beauties door and my heart breaks open, time and again, falling in love with life itself.