Although the grey clouds and the weatherman had forecasted snow, I gasped in surprise when I left the bookstore and entered the storm. Full of warm coffee and fresh ideas I had not the "oh, no, more snow" feeling but instead saw only beauty. The line of snow in a crease of a blue car. White dots on my pink hat (when I glanced into a mirror). A blur where the mountains had been when I had entered the bookstore.
The stillness at the po when I get the mail--surrounded by red ridges and razor backs and hearing absolute nothing, a more absolute nothing I have never been a part of.
The tiny pieces of a quilt. I look at the quilt closely then pull back. It is like looking at a Seurat closely then pulling back.