At the turning of the seasons, beauty happens everywhere. The weeping birch down the street, the budding of lilac and cherry and apple trees, and the long-lost sunshine are all doing their part to bring me happiness nowadays.
I have memories of moments throughout my life when the beauty around me seemed a sight "beyond the lot of mortals". During a road trip, for instance, Mom and my sisters and I drove right along the beaches south of Crescent City in California. We hit that stretch right at sundown, and there were waves rolling in and breaking into mist on the shore. The setting sun had turned everything fairy colors. It was so beautiful that I'm afraid to go back in case it doesn't live up to my recollection.
Other memories include the morning star over the Bridger mountains at dawn, the glow of street-lights among pine trees and fog on the way into Anacortes one night, and the white angels genuflecting before the Tabernacle in the St. Louis basilica.
This past Sunday night, Lou and I were walking through our neighborhood. It was gray and breezy, but still light enough to show the vibrance of the spring colors. We walked past a cherry-tree with pink blossoms, and just as we passed it the wind picked up and petals swirled all around us--pink petals against the gray sky.
I am anxious to read Dante's Paradiso. Lou says that the great poet portrays heaven as a giant rose, with God at the center and all the holy ones around him. The depiction is literary, not literal, of course, but I'm expecting beauty in heaven. Whenever beauty happens, I feel like the veil has been drawn back for just a moment, giving me a glimpse.