So there you are. It's Saturday morning, and after unconsciously setting up a pot of coffee you stumble into the garage and hit the wall-mounted button for the garage door opener.
The noisy clatter of the door, the harsh light of the naked bulb and the unseemly clutter do not prepare you for what awaits as you step outside to fetch the paper from the driveway.
There, against a sky suitable for a Maxfield Parrish print, hangs a crescent moon, Venus and Mars, arrayed like an astral earring
The contrast to the mindless mundanity of your morning routine could not be more pronounced. The colors, the simplicity and the resonant, silent beauty of it all renders you mute.
Paper in hand, you reflect on nature's repeated ability to inspire and surprise you. To fill you with a very rare commodity called wonder.
Then you recall Pope Francis' half-heard cry to protect this jewel called Earth, and the willful, short-sighted greed and selfishness which will destroy it.
You close the door behind you. But only literally.