beauty everywhere

I guess you know you’re doing the right thing when suddenly you feel elated and full of energy, dancing and jumping and not giving a damn, and then you feel a pang of sorrow and loss, a moment of reverie for what could have been…I started a conversation with a handsome young architect on the BART, pleased at both our openness and the rareness of connection in such a bustling yet anonymous place. I left the train feeling high, happy for having the courage to take a risk, to say what the hell am I waiting for. I came home to slow-cooked pork finishing in the oven, the strange and amusing conversation of my housemates. Dinner began in a joyous clamor of talk amongst four women, the sky grey with clouds and blue with evening. And the same peach ruffle-petaled rose that had been sitting there a couple days called to me. I smelled it and the joy of the transcience of the scent…filled me with contentment, ecstasy, and the low-call of letting go. Each rose gives a scent, and perhaps they all smell similarly, or they are reliably pleasant, so we don’t stop to smell them anymore, but in spite of the trite nature of what words I am using, to know that this rose, this one on our table, has only a few days of glory and scent, before it succumbs to the cut stalk. What a pleasure it was to behold, even if for a few days. Always the lesson of the thrill of life, along with the letting go

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