This morning, the land was again white with frost and gold with early sunlight. Every surface was edged with tiny twinkling ice crystals. The sky was blue, with clouds as soft and white as angel wings.
I live in a beautiful place. When we first moved here, I wondered if I would become immune to the beautiful views, if familiarity would breed if not contempt then perhaps indifference. But that has not happened at all. I am still often halted in my tracks by the beauty that surrounds me here, Halfway up a Hill.
Yet the moon would be just as beautiful viewed from an inner city window, the frost just as magical. Even the most uninspiring ingredients such as motor oil and a muddy puddle can combine to produce glorious swirling rainbows.
I live in a beautiful place - but then again, we all do.