Beauty

Friday was so beautiful that it was almost painful to look at. Snow capped Jura rose over the lake being crossed by a lone Easy Jet plane on its way to Cointrin airport. The apple orchard shook out the first of its white blossoms that resembled flickering candlelight more than full blooms as they danced in the early morning breeze. The cloudless sky was blue while the grass shone in multitudes of shades of green.

Thank goodness the vineyards hadn’t begun to sprout leaves leaving their tortured branches as a small reminder that perfection isn’t possible. Still even with their twisting and turning, they represented a form that would do a bonsai designer proud.

I had chosen to walk up the hill to the post office even though everything is closed for the four-day Easter weekend. If I weren’t a writer, I would say tighter than a drum, but that is a cliché. Since I’ve just been reading old fashioned mystery novels let me try tighter than a size 34 blouse on a dame with a 36D bust. No one else was around, just me and beauty. A gift.