Taking in the Beauty

It was almost evening and the fog hadn't lifted yet. I came down the hill and turned left towards the post office, market, restaurant.

On the other side of the restaurant, there is a view of the harbor. Sometimes I look. Most times, I don't.

I walked over the wet pavement, hands in my pockets, head down. Past the post office, the market, then the restaurant.

And when I got to the other side of the restaurant, light caught my eye. I turned to look. And there, over the harbor, the fog was lifting as the sun was setting.

Nice, I thought. Then I turned back to my walk.

Which didn't last long. Because some part of me knew: That's not nice. That's beauty. Right here in front of you and you didn't have to do anything for it. Can you risk pausing to appreciate it?

I turned back to the harbor. It was glowing. There was light, mist, and the fragile grace of a moment that wouldn't last long; evening was too close.

I stood watching. It was a kind of savoring I hadn't done in a while. And when I finally turned away, I knew that it must be good for the soul to make time to take in beauty.

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