Not just amazement at the everyday eye of a poppy, or the flash of glass-green as a wave breaks; not merely saluting blue—the infinite cover over us—but the power of beauty to arrest even the most important activity. Like no other, beauty forces us to stop.
A lovely woman.
A perfect baby.
There is stillness and inevitable staring.
A blind woman’s hand feels the words, and then pauses…
Oh, the perfect irony that the blind can see beauty
or that stillness can shout the glory of creation.
What kind of God creates a curiosity like beauty—ineffable, untouchable, unaffected by us and yet, at times, made by us and then destroyed by us?
Can beauty be so fragile as to be destroyed? Or does it merely slip from view?
Try to imagine a world without it. Ahh. Beauty: our greatest comfort.