The morning air after a rain is still a beautiful thing. The way the neighbor waves over the fence and says, “Beautiful day!” is full of cheer. The little bounce in the step from that morning cuppa a beautiful way to start a day. Ignoring the news is going to be the best part of this beautiful day.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “beautiful.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

8 thoughts on “Beautiful”

  1. Life is beautiful, that is what it occurred to me when I read this adjective. Mr. Benigni, the film director, that shot one of the greatest movies of all times. Yes, because life is beautiful and everyday we tend to miss it. Wake up today and say it out loud!

  2. My most memorable feeling of finding something beautiful was probably when I was about two or three years old. My family had taken me to the public swimming pool in our town on a very hot and humid New York summer day. I was sitting in the tiny area cordoned off for little ones where the level of water was very, very low. There were several tiny holes here and there around the sides of the area where tiny bits of water were constantly burbling out. I have a photo of that first time in the kiddy pool area. I am sitting wearing diapers and my head is bowed down with little chubby arms up above the spouting cool water. I am extremely intent observing the water. In the photo the brighter spots where the sunlight was hitting the drops of water was captured. My platinum fine baby hair was glowing – almost like a halo. It’s a fantastic black and white photo. I truly believe that was my first love affair with nature. I’ve always loved the beauty of water, woods, sky, mountains. Beautiful nature never fails to almost take my breath away.

  3. So often when at work at the Mom-and-Pop store that was my Mom’s and Pop’s we quoted the popular lyric, “Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh what a beautiful day.; ‘ve got a beautiful feeling that everything’s going my way.” You very seldom hear that anymore, probably because people are caught up in angst about evil of some kind: political rulers and aspirants, resisters, haters, bullies of all kinds/ages, warriors, opportunists and so forth. But “going my way” really is up to us, individually and as connected. Going my way is not just soothing individuaiistic life; it’s about solidarity. “Everything is going my way” is meaningful only when my way is your way is our way.

  4. Flawlessly applied foundation. A middle-aged woman who is finally putting herself first after years of following societal standards. A young boy who understands the worth of a dollar. White sands, clear water, a margarita and nowhere to be for the next 48 hours. The look on your face when you hear unexpected good news.

  5. My child waving at me
    before boarding the bus ,
    He remembering to greet
    , even in the morning rush
    Nodding in the early breeze
    Rusty leaves and tiny buds
    Cleaners sweeping streets
    even in afternoon hush
    A chilled glass of water-ice
    In the heat ,daze and flush
    All things that one prize(s)
    are beautiful and mush…

  6. True Beauty

    “Beautiful is as beautiful does,” my mother used to say.
    “Beauty is only skin deep,” she sometimes added, or
    “Beauty is the eye of the beholder.”

    It was the beauty without that fascinated me when I was young.
    Not beautiful people, famous people,
    not celebrities and heroes.

    The falling leaf, the ripple on a pond,
    the drift of clouds in summer’s blue,
    the startle of a red flower along an unkempt road.

    “Everything that is made beautiful and fair and lovely
    is made for the eye of one who sees,” said Rumi.
    “Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful,
    for beauty is God’s handwriting,” Emerson advised.
    I believed these words; these were truths to touch, to hold close and long.

    It took years to appreciate
    the beauty my mother described,
    and the beauty she brought to this world.
    Now I see, as Ghandi taught,
    “It may be possible to gild pure gold,
    but who can make his mother more beautiful?”

  7. The farm was beautiful. Not in an attractive way but beautiful because of the life and the memories. I recall holidays there and I think how beautiful that time was. The fun. The fresh air. The new life in the paddocks. It was beautiful. It was memorable.

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