Dear Plato, Beauty is the beginning… Sometimes, I wonder about beauty. Beauty must be what God is, what heaven will be to our senses. Different people perceive beauty differently, but for me, the most profound occurs in chiaroscuro–the interplay of shadow and light. I thrill at the moment dissonance blooms into harmony. Chills whisper down…
His skin is tan and sweat streams down his face, transforming his collarbones into reservoirs and bronzing his face in a copper mask with the help of its compatriot, the sun. Standing with bare toes gripping the sandstone, he releases one side of the window to hold his hand like a visor as he squints…
Every time a boy holds a door for me, my hope in humanity is renewed. Maybe society isn’t decomposing like roadkill. Maybe we still have some notions of etiquette. Bless you! (Or curse you if you’ve lost the habit of holding doors.) Farewell.