Transient Beauty

There is a tree that I used to pass when I’d park at the church and walk to school. It flowered with these gorgeous fuchsia blooms. I have no idea what kind of tree it was, but those flowers were amazing. One day, on my way to class, I walked past that tree and saw a blanket of petals on the ground underneath it. I remember thinking that it looked like an Indian blanket or a silk scarf, those petals blanketing the ground with piece of grass poking through the pink. The very next day when I walked past, the petals had withered into tiny, brown curls. The silk scarf was gone replaced by a mat of crisp, dead leaves. At first, I felt a little sad. But when you think about it, it was there for such a short time that maybe I was lucky to have seen it at all.

I woke up around 9 a.m. on a Saturday a couple weeks ago. On my way to the bathroom, I looked out into the living room. I thought for a second that I had left a light on overnight; the room was so bright. The whole room was glowing with the warmest yellow light I’ve ever seen. The walls were painted a buttery gold. The sun pushed through every inch of my Venetian blinds and coated the room in sweet honey-colored daylight. I stood in the doorway for a second, just enjoying the warmth of that morning. When I got out of the shower, the living room had faded into a blue gray with no trace of that brilliant amber that had hung on the walls just a few minutes before. I was lucky to have seen it at all.

I don’t consider this an epiphany or anything, but it has made me think. I’m not re-evaluating my life or contemplating dropping everything to stop and smell the roses, but it does make me a little more aware of what I could be missing when I’m not looking around.

But even if I don’t find those fleeting, catch-your-breath beautiful moments every day, I still think that I’m lucky to have seen any at all.