What if the man could see Beauty Itself, pure, unalloyed, stripped of mortality and all its pollution, stains, and vanities, unchanging, divine … the man becoming, in that communion, the friend of God, himself immortal; … would that be a life to disregard?

Plato

Last Wednesday’s snow photographs were to be followed later in the day by some thoughts about the ever-changing scenes ‘on opening curtains’. But those same ever-changing scenes took over, as they often do, and our feet have hardly touched the ground since. Visitors, rich conversations, another family funeral later this week, and so on … it’s like that for all of us.

But this evening there’s time to reflect with wonder upon snow less than a week ago – and streams of sunshine through our windows today. And the response of daffodil buds on the desk to photosynthesis. Cold last week. Warm as toast today. That kaleidoscope I was talking about last Tuesday is a living, breathing reality. Life is always and everywhere ‘on the move’ – and always quietly turning its face to the light.

I think I’d been intending to muse further on ways in which perspectives draw us to different conclusions and life experiences. I can’t exactly remember, of course, what I’d meant to write then. Thoughts are fleeting. The impulses of the mind come and go. That fact, too, is something to be celebrated – and breathed.

As night follows day I’m growing and changing immeasurably, through conversations, deep silences, listening, observation, unknowing and – to give them a further mention – the joie de vivre of three woodpeckers who share this neck of the woods with us.

Many’s the time I see Beauty Itself.