WALK Down the Street
I was thinking about the feeling of beauty on my walk today—a generous mile down the street and back again. It wasn’t the look of beauty I sought to know, but the feeling of it. A cool breeze came, and I remembered a little church in Hornstrandir Nature Preserve, Iceland with my beloved hiking pals. That memory felt beautiful. It was also in the neighbors’ sprinkler set slightly too close to the fence that shyly kissed my ankles, and in the Little Library on the corner with a fresh coat of paint, a color that must be called “Summertime.” Truly, that’s what flowed through me. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood. I know this, but how?
What does beauty feel like? Safety. Warmth. Comfort. Bright. Sparkly. Enveloped. Related. Connected. Novelty. Nostalgia. A flush on my chest and cheeks. A laugh that escapes and seems to kick up its heels. I’ve seen the heart-shaped leaves on the redbud tree, the smiling dog with its purple tongue, the identically pitched rooftops against the sky, every sight along this strip of sidewalk—still, I feel a new kind of beautiful each time I set out. How?
What is beautiful? What is beauty?
There are no words for an answer.
All I know is that it comes walking with me.
It was there in the sunrise, the first lilacs to bloom, the owl in her nest, the kids getting on the bus, the dog walkers in conversation with their furries. I smelled beauty in the first batch from the bakeries, the pot of coffee, and the wood smoke from the morning fire in someone’s hearth. I often hear it in the sounds of waking up, the gentle lo of a serious, deep-voiced bird, the pop of the toaster, the first hello. It is all so beautiful. It was there when the wild rose was born in spring and then again, when she began to die, her fragrance ripening to sweet and sour, her petals browning at the edges, her body softening into the earth. How can beauty come so wild and alive in death? How can it be here... and there…. and there? How?
All I know is that it comes walking with me.
Perhaps the beauty, the beautiful, isn’t this place or any place but the presence to take it in. Perhaps beauty is attention, devotion, the ritual of quiet in my head. Perhaps it's in the choice to listen, see, smell, feel, taste. Perhaps beautiful is simply the hug of my green cozy coat. What could be more beautiful than a hug? Perhaps everything is beautiful. It must be.
To open the mailbox!
To meet the new puppy!
To see the flowers in the flower market!
To hold their hand? To kiss them? To brush up against their shoulder?
To go for a walk. Even just in the neighborhood.
How can it all be beautiful?
All I know about beauty is that it comes walking with me.
PromptS
What is beautiful about my home?
What is beautiful about me?
How do I create beauty in the world?
Libby DeLana is an award-winning executive creative director, designer/art director by trade, who has spent her career in the ad world. Click here to get your copy of Libby’s first published book, Do Walk. You can connect with Libby on Instagram @thismorningwalk and @parkhere.