Beauty Is...

I felt like writing a composition on Beauty and I was wondering If you could read it and comment on it for some constructive criticism. Some of you might have seen some form of this composition, but I've changed it a bit.

Beauty is (insert fitting word that I have not found yet)

Shhh.

Listen.

The trees murmur and whisper to each other as they sway their leaves in a rhythmic dance that bestows tribute to the wind. They shiver in inhuman ecstasy as they tell stories that no one hears. I listen to the hidden voices play their music.

One leaf isolates itself from its mother branch; it falls, twisting and turning, catching itself upon the zephyr, riding upon it. It silently, gently, floats upon the ground, accepting its fate, staring at the ground, waiting. I admire its courage.

The sky is cloudless, the purest shade of light sapphire. It almost seems to burn my eyes in its unfailing purity. I feel insignificant against the sage witness of history. I wonder. Does it remember when it had been filled with the gunshots of war; does it remember days of simple happiness and peace?

The breeze gently flutters my hair, affectionately stroking my cheek. It gently envelops me-cool, calming, like an invisible cloud. Chills crawl down my back in rapture. I close my eyes and reach for the wind with my fingertips.

My bare feet dip onto the cold ground, and they go forward. I know they are under my mute command. It seems impossible not to appreciate the insignificant speck that dots where I am standing. Every breath I take is a miracle. Life is a miracle.

The water from my pond ripples from the wind. Circle after circle, line after line. It arches and twists, graceful and smooth. Every gentle puff of wind makes a difference. I watch them elegantly carve their portrait.

A fountain resides in the middle of my pond. From it water drops are thrown into the heavens, sparkling, winking in the reflected light of the sun, falling, and then they are gone. I watch them perform their ballet.

I unlock the worn door of splendor. I hardly dare to breathe in the horror that I may send myself hurtling back through the door, never to return. But I don’t.

For one moment, time freezes and everything softens into a dewy mellowness. Colors blend, and I realize—This is beauty.

Hope you like it!