Beauty, aye.

I can see the ground.

Wearing shirt sleeves and red faced, tanned and wind burned, chilled but exhilarated, I feel the end of winter has finally arrived. These photos represent a hint of this change. Physically I’m in motion, emotionally I am finally stationary.

It is not just the intoxication of motion and the movement of gale force winds signaling this transition. But I am also finding direction from this community, an assembly of astounding people-writers and artisans who surround one another with grace while propelling all these divergent voices forward.

I’ve been thinking about beauty lately. The constant influence of such a thing on my life---compounded by the lack of logic associated with any sense of inspiration. I crave the incomplete yet addictive satiation, and movement borne of an appreciation of that which is intangible.

Most, if not all, the bad decisions of my life were made in pursuit of beauty. I am powerless to look away-to step back and reconsider, to embrace a more proactive stance.

Beauty has defined my location, often my occupation, and always my heart’s attachment to that of another.

I suspect this is the epitome of a shallow man; One who defies logic in place of something which by its definition is fleeting and subject to change at any time.

Still I suppose that this depends on the current definition of beauty.

If anything this blog---especially the images found here, stand as my attempt to reconcile my fragile and transitory affair with a pursuit of beauty with an equally transitory and fragile sense of reality. After all, beauty has always been best defined as most perfectly reflected in the eye of the beholder.

Here is where that eye gazes, eyes wide open.