I returned from my backpacking trip to see what I might call a delicate beauty. Among the plants and flowers we have in our garden are peonies. Lovely flowers, peonies bloom profusely in early June. All through the winter and into the nascent spring, we wait for them to come forth, watching the stalks emerge, the buds appear and, finally, the full flower.
The ancients viewed beauty as a sign of wholeness, a vision of integration and order. Beauty was an ultimate good. But it was elusive: who could really attain it?
So go peonies. Though we retrieve as many blooms as we can, our time to do so is very limited. We strive in vain to lengthen it.
And then we're left with the dust of the earth: a delicate beauty.
If not for God.
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