Close Encounters

Things are not always what they seem. That's something we have all experienced. I love nature. Today I noticed two trees, which I often observe on my drive home from work (I should not divert my eyes from the road, I know).

One tree is embellished with gold, gleaming spherical beads. At a distant cast, I'm certain the tiny spheres have been touched by Midas himself.

The other tree is quite large and engulfed in a blanket of silver. The leaves are absolutely brilliant in the sunlight, like they could be melted down for jewelry.

Up close, however the gold beads are nothing more than tan, wrinkly, hollow, balls. They're weak, and I deplete their worth to mere irrevocable plainness. The silver leaves are but grayish-white in color, sickly and dull.

The matter of course from this little analogy can mean whatever you wish, but two illustrations have weight in me.

1) The illusion of beauty is conceivably delightful when viewed from a distant angle. The right angle. When the view is nigh, so is the sobering malady of realization.
LAYMAN'S TERMS: What seems appealing at first glance, isn't always so nice up close.

2) The facets of concrete existence, those acquiescent pillars of life we so readily ignore, can be the illustrious accessories we compulsively crave.
LAYMAN'S TERMS: If we would just stop to notice the small things in life, we might see how beautiful they are capable of being.

And, there is your daily dose of verbose, snobbish intellect. I'll be here all night.

Cheers.

Meg