“Beauty brings copies of itself into being.
It makes us draw it, take photographs of it,
or describe it to other people.” (Elaine Scarry)
The misty light these winter mornings demands to be photographed. Three mornings now I have pulled out of my driveway, started down the street toward work, stopped abruptly in awe at the forest light, ran back to the house for my camera, and gotten lost in the woods for a half hour before finally leaping back into the car and racing off to work.
Beauty is a quite a task master; she doesn't take no for an answer and doesn't care if I have other appointments. It seems, in this way, she is very much like death.
