Beauty

I had an American Beauty moment this afternoon.  No, I don't mean a naked teenager in a bed of roses kind of moment.  I mean a plastic bag dancing in the wind kind of moment.

I was walking to the post office to mail some t-shirts and noticed a small twister of yellow leaves swirling in a plaza.  Something about the configuration of the buildings and such caused the slight breeze to form a funnel.  Cool, I thought, but my errand was waiting on me.

After doing my duty and mailing said t-shirts, I walked past the plaza again the the yellow leaves lay in a lifeless, scattered drift.  Oh well.  Since it was a warm day, I decided to treat myself to an iced-coffee drink.  After placing the order, I looked out the window and the leaves had spun to life again.  They circled fast and furious near the ground, like a cat chasing its tail.  (Yes, I know most of you think of a dog, but you've never seen my cat, and she is much faster than any dog.)  But a few feet above, the movement was softer, more like a caress.  Little yellow leaves, playing in the breeze.

I discovered a new artist today, quite by accident. Had made plans to spend time with a friend, and she suggested that we go see this jazz-infused folk artist who was playing at The Potter's House in Adams Morgan. Sure, I said. I wasn't expecting much. I just wanted to spend some time with Chanda.

Anyway, long story short, from the very first guitar strum I was mesmerized. It sounded so different from the way a folk guitar usually sounds (to me anyway). And then she opened her mouth to sing... what a beautiful voice.

I bought her cd on the spot and am listening to it as I twiddle around on this web site. Not as good as hearing her live, but still lovely. Check her out!

http://www.thisislea.com/

Living so far south here in DC, the leaves are just starting to turn. But here and there is a single tree who for whatever reason is bright red even tho its neighbors are still green. Each afternoon as I've walked home from work I've been struck by the beauty of these trees. I mean just amazed. 

Monday I had to stop in front of this one bright red tree, sitting in the front yard of a brick row house painted dull grey. The yard was all paved over; there was nothing living in that courtyard except for the flaming tree. The contrast was spectacular. 

And then today, as I took a different route home, I saw another tree basking in the afternoon sun, where the red-orange leaves seemed to be glowing from within. Beckoning. 

I thought of Moses and the burning bush. Surely when confronted with that kind of surreal beauty people must have felt the undeniable presence of the Divine.

Today, Miles and I went down to the tidal basin to see the cherry blossoms. They were already past their peak, the pinkish white blossoms covering the ground like a recent snow storm, but there was still plenty of white/pink of the trees, and the hint of green sprouting on the branches was beautiful in and of itself. Nobody does Spring like DC. Honestly, I never appreciated Spring until I moved here. There are no real seasons in coastal California, unless you count the rain and the Santa Ana winds as seasons. In New York, spring was a muddy mess - a brief transition from icy winter to sweltering summer - there might be a few blooms but they were often obliterated by a tardy snow storm. But DC: first the crocuses start to appear, followed by the daffodils. Then the trees take over with the delicate cherry blossoms and big bold magnolias. Then the ground answers back with tulips. Then the dogwood trees command attention. And finally the azaleas. I never thought much of azaleas until I saw big huge bushes of them in bloom, all in different colors, in DC. Spring in DC lasts for weeks and weeks, in wave after wave of color.