As a child, my sisters and I would pick, what I now know to be, weeds from the neighbors lawn. To my child-eye they were the most exquisite purple flowers. We would bring them home excited to give such a ‘beautiful’ big bouquet to my Mom. She was highly allergic, but I remember how proud I felt when I peered into the kitchen and she placed them on the table, sneezing as she arranged the hideous mess. There were more moments like this too: cutting the bread just a ‘skosh’ bigger for others when she thought no one was looking, wearing the same pretty patterned, but tattered, dress every year for Easter but a new twirly one for us. Moments quiet, gentle, and unseen. But never truly unseen. 

 Just like a sunset in the blossom of spring. When you stop for just a second and take in the surroundings, the subtle beauty not asking to be thanked but a soft magic filling the soul of the viewer nonetheless.