Dissolve me...

silence of my aloneness

from humanity

i found myself

only to quickly dissolve myself 

midst of the mist 

of the untainted

untamed

that which we call

nature

hammock me rainforest moss

cradled

dappen my soul

soak and retain

canopy light

sparkles above

whispers

of what moves above

sturdy winter grasses 

dance high

dry desert breeze

high five me along the trail

dip the sun

glow me rocky red faces

vibrance

rising sphere

illuminates the path of 

the 

here

the

now

the briny waters

for they penetrate 

every pore

reminder to 

let go

for at the summit

cross legs

open hands

grip released

rest 

brush my out breath 

dissolved 

all but one

Decaf Lavender Oat Latte: Marigolds in Our collarbones

 While leafing through a local art publication the other day, I read the most beautiful poem. I was lusting over a decaf lavender oat latte when the words slipped into me unexpectedly. A beautiful composition of words that danced between the beams of my soul, making light and love. Sarah Rodriguez's poem resonated within me on my long drive back from Denver. She wrote:

"We plant marigolds in our collarbones and call every moon a bonfire." 

Words that ushered in my mantra of gratitude. For every day, every moment. The wise Einstein said, 

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is though everything is a miracle."

Why not look at every moon as a bonfire, as a celebration of the night sky and of distant planets and galaxies?

"We plant marigolds in our collarbones" struck a familiar curiosity as if I knew exactly what the author meant by these words. Yet this exotic curiosity begged for an explanation of my truth within these words. Where had I seen marigolds planted in collarbones? 

The other night I was skimming through some old pictures of India and I came across a portrait that my sister had taken of me one beautiful morning in Varanasi, India. Varanasi is the only place that I've visited in my life where spirituality was so palpable it was carried in the soot filled air. You could feel it on your cheeks and in your scratchy throat. Around my neck in the portrait, hanging from my collarbone, fucking marigolds. 

The marigold is thought to be the herb of the sun. Some say it symbolizes both passion and creativity. The garland adorns temples, and gods, and brides, and me. My sister had greeted me at the airport with a garland made of marigold heads. This moment only to be recalled because of the beautiful words a poem that I leafed across while drinking a decaf lavender oat latte.

The Second Hand

the hand spins passing the other every 60  
      street corner illuminated by blinking neon light
how did I arrive
    to this place at this time
                        fists clenched deep in pockets of protection
    anchored yesterday to today
spin
            dizzy i grab at where hair gathered once
   recalling an image that i portrayed 
hand spins
                                                     Release

An Alien

An Alien written by April Netschke

She hoists her body upon the high balance beam. For her walk in life is a feat of true balance. On one side mother culture promotes the climb to the top of the corporate ladder. She promotes accumulation of inanimate objects and stability in the form of 401ks and accounts filled with numbers followed by many zeros. Social interactions lack depth and meaning with the autonomic question "how are you" and the even more autonomic response of "good." Mother culture condemns the questioning of our origins and the meaning of our existence and instead feeds us fabricated salvation in the form of steeples and repentance. The false bribe of an escape from our inevitable mortality even though at night we lie awake questioning what we are being fed and it's accuracy. Our spirits yearn for the touch of the untainted outdoors but instead our feet are covered with a sock that was made by a sweat shop child in a third world country, in the hide of a dead animal that knew nothing but a life of pain, and our steps are upon the fabrication of linoleum concrete asphalt and carpet. Our minds crave the silence needed for growth within, yet we are inundated with the beeps of emails, texts, and phone calls. At night we go home and press the on switch to a screen that allows us to stupefy and distract ourselves from a real existence while we watch others perform a fake existence. We navigate around in our drivers seats isolated and alone. Not by the power and strength from the movement of our own bodies but instead by the roar of an engine that requires fuel that furthers the murder of our earth. We justify the abuse with the notion that humans are the climax of the earth and that anything and everything is at our disposal. 

On the other side of that absurdly high balance beam is where her heart resides. For in her mind her arms sprout into wings made of feathers and she remains completely untethered. Mother Nature has stolen her breathe with the luster of the millions of stars that blankets the pitch back night sky. She takes note of the music and dance the aspen leaves perform in the warm summer breeze. She lays her body down gently onto the cushion of the vibrant moss and feels Mother Nature's warm embrace as the sunlight filters through the forest's canopy. Her toes sink into the sand on the beach and she ponders the life of a single water drop, from its frozen glacial state to the airborne mist that spouts from the humpback's blowhole. Her existence when she is surrounded by the loving embrace of Mother Nature makes complete sense. Her internal dialogue is kind and she feels as if she is enough. 

Her body physically resides in mother culture and its fabrication yet her heart is found deep within Mother Nature's truth. For this reason she feels as if she is an alien that walks among those that don't understand her. So she continues to carefully place one foot in front of the other as she teeters on the balance beam between two very different worlds.

Vegan Coconut Leek Bisque

Here is a healthy vegan bisque that will have you coming back to this recipe time and time again. Also, this soup will help you utilize the whole leek plant instead of just the tender base....so you have the opportunity to be more environmentally savvy. 

Ingredients:
2 bunches of organic leeks
2 large organic sweet potatoes 
1/2 lb organic baby carrots 
1 box of organic vegetable broth
Organic Coconut oil
Organic Coconut milk
Organic fresh thyme (preferably from your garden or kitchen window sill)

Wash and Chop 2 large sweet potatoes in equal sizes

Chop leeks into 1/2 inch slices making sure to keep separate the tender light green/white base from the fibrous dark green tops. (Often these dark tops get disposed of because people find them to be too fibrous.... But today you will utilize the crap out of them)

Soak leek slices in a bowl of water as you separate the rings with your fingers(a lot of dirt tends to hide in between the layers.... Yes even us vegans don't care for the surprise crunch of dirt)

Place washed dark leeks tops, chopped sweet potatoes, carrots, and a box of vegetable stock in a large pot and boil covered on high until sweet potatoes and carrots are easily broken with the end of a wooden spoon.

Put the light green/white ringlets into a roasting pan that has a lid and place a few tsps of coconut oil and some torn thyme on top. Place in oven at 450 degrees for 20 minutes or until the leeks are tender.

When vegetables are done boiling on the stove top, purre until smooth in a food processor. Add a can of coconut milk when bisque has reached desired consistency.

Serve this incredible leek bisque with roasted leeks on top for added texture and flavor. Garnish with some extra fresh thyme.

Alley Way

I like taking a walk down the alley way
Much preferred from the street view
For you see peoples' real
Not the façade that they put on for their neighbors
Your steps down the alley way reveal
Daddy's handy weekend work of assembled tree houses made out of scraps
Gardens that people have poured blood and sweat into - not for aesthetic purposes but to simply grow real food
Chicken coops where hens squawk and eggs are collected daily
And rusty Ford pickups that carried their fathers' farms - simply are too much nostalgia to part with
Greenhouses that stand up to the snow and foster growth despite the cold
Chopped wood piles that fuel the fire
For my walk down the alley way instead of the street reveals that beauty lies in purpose

Love from Afar

A beautiful passage of wisdom that exemplifies the powerful beauty of love that is carried out from a distance.

"From where I am," the sun said, "I can see the Soul of the World. It communicates with my soul, and together we cause the plants to grow and the sheep to seek out shade. From where I am- and I'm a long way from earth- I learned how to love. I know that if I came even a little bit closer to the earth, everything there would die, and the Soul of the World would no longer exist. So we contemplate each other, and we want each other, and I give it life and warmth, and it gives me my reason for living." -Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist)

Thanks to be Had

 

 

 

           This morning I find myself watching the snow fall from the window in the warmth of my home. The sound of my kids rivalrous bickering has to be broken up every once in a while and the fragrance of the pies that we made last night still lingers in the air. My feet are warm from the wool socks that I pulled on and the coffee is strong and warm. I can't help but be brought back to a moment that lasted but 15 seconds on an auto rickshaw in Jodpur, India last December. My sister and I were in the back of the rickshaw that is inherently permeated with the smells of gasoline, exhaust, the smoke from burning trash, with an occasional whiff of curry that sweeps in as we pass a market. Our little tuk-tuk comes to an abrupt stop because of traffic and a little brown eyed toddler emerges in the midst of the exhaust stricken insanity with an outstretched hand. A torn t-shirt hangs off his starving structure and I notice he is shoeless. As his eyes look up at me for compassion I can't help but take notice that he is sick. His nose is running. All I could think in that moment was “where is his mom.” Many children in India are orphaned because their parents have died from AIDS. Many of these children are HIV positive as well. As I began to reach in my purse to grab some candy and toys that I had been carting around India to give to the street children, the tuk-tuk began to take off. I began to weep. I will never forget that little boy, for all I wanted to do was to sweep him up in my arms like I do my own children when they are sick. Give him a warm bath, feed his growling belly, and tuck him into a warm bed. He has nothing. He was born on the streets and will eventually die on the streets. He doesn't have a right to an education, health care, a home, or even food. The country that he lives in is overwhelmed by population expansion, pollution, and poverty. There isn't a soup kitchen, homeless shelter, or orphanage that is going to save him. He can't apply for food stamps, Medicaid, or section 8 housing. I didn’t understand desperation or hopelessness until that point in my life…. I thought I did. Just by the ownership of a United States birth certificate we are entitled to so much. We did nothing for it. It was simply sheer luck to be born in the land of the free. I am so incredibly thankful for every shred of prosperity that I have in my life, both earned and by luck. Happy Thanksgiving! Love, April

Love Her

28 years later. Still the same girl. Just in Rome, Italy.

A postcard that I purchased in Rome for myself... as a reminder.

       As women in today's culture, we can't help but struggle with feelings of inadequacy in the way we look, in our careers, in our homes, as mothers, as wives.... our culture feeds these insecurities. My sister gave me a piece advise once that I will hold close to my heart until my skin is wrinkled and my hair is grey, "love yourself the way you would love your own daughter. The way you would love the child-you." For a while she carried a photograph of her childhood self around in her wallet as a daily reminder. God! How beautiful is that?! I wrote this poem with that mantra in mind:


Love Her

Sweet girl
You were once a little person with chubby toes
You are still that girl
Don't you love her?

You don't grudgingly hold on to that little girl's failures
Instead you remind her that life will include a few stumbles
Just pick yourself back up

Forgive Yourself.

Round tummy that peeks out as she runs and plays
You wouldn't dare criticize her chubby midline
So why do you now?

Love Yourself.

Dreams of growing wings at the height of her swinging on the swing set
You wouldn't dare snuff out the little girl's dreams of flight

Allow Yourself to Dream.

Compassion for her 28 years ago.

Compassion for her today.

A Postcard from Me to Me

A postcard sent to me from me with LOVE from Rome, Italy:


Where does inspiration come from?

As I sit at a café sipping my cappuccino in the early morning (well early for Italians.... 8am)in Piazza Farnese, this question finds itself on repeat in my head.
 

Is it the ornate façade, with every Florentine perfectly aligned?
 

Maybe it's the black cobbled stone that reflects the illumination of the city at night but during the daylight serves as the foundation from which Roma stands?
 

Perhaps, is the enormous fontana that have proven their worth with centuries of longevity?
 

Inspiration may be drawn from the simple white dress that perfectly frames the femininity of her body as she confidently navigates the bumpy road in her stiletto heals.
 

It's the simplicity of the trickling water and it's reflection of the early morning light as it moves over the fontana.
 

Creativity could be found in the dance of the business man's hands as he closes an every day business transaction like a perfectly executed ballet.
 

It's the flapping of the common pigeons' wings, defying boundaries and breaking every rule.
 

It could come form the irony of the white jacketed doctor who chain smokes in the piazza.
 

Or the nun in black and white who paradoxically keeps in step with a young girl in cut off short and belly exposed to the world.
 

The guitarist who smiles a little brighter with every string he strums.
 

It could come from the three wheeled miniature truck with a bed filled with a rainbow selection of flowers as it wobbles down the narrow lanes.

Love,  April Netschke

Bound Nostalgia

 

 

On the cobbled Roman street
my path would purposefully divert
to stroll under the cover of the old book stand.
For the old tattered pieces of literature
offered me not the usual pleasure that books give,
for I am unable to read Italian.
However,
my path diverted so that
I could breathe in the incredible aroma of nostalgia
that these old books held.
There smell whispering a secret of their history that is bound between the covers,
begging to be told.
I'd watch the beautiful souls that rummaged the stand.
One by one
unwrapping the history with the opening of a book.

Tether

Torn between worlds

The rusted chains made of the past and the ode to it

Tether her bright soul to a place in space that exists because of 

promises

a home

a life

Internal acceptance of a long hidden secret acts like a violent tornado of wind

Sweeping her whole pale lifeless body up with unrelenting fury

But the rusted chains hold tight her ankle

The harsh smell of rust permeates the air reminding her of where she should remain

tethered

The internal wind continues to whip

Throwing her hair in every directions

Body like a rag doll

Caught in a tornado of fury

The heavy chains begin to dig into the soft flesh

The thick warmth of her blood begins to drips but splatters with the wind

She cries out but sound is not heard

She can't even hear herself 

Unwilling to command the winds to seize

to give in

She closes her eyes in the midst of the madness

You see in her white knuckled fist she holds the key

The key that could unlock her promise of the past and send her into a whole new world

A key that could end the pain

Yet she remains clenching the key in that white knuckled fist until it's jagged ends tear into her palms

Afraid to unlock the chains

Afraid to let the winds die down

A Catalyst for Change

     As time marches on, we homosapians are constantly changing... evolving if you may. Just like in chemistry, we are taught that a chemical reaction can be sped up in the presence of something scientist like to call a "catalyst." I've become cognizant as my life has continued on how the presence of certain people, situations, and environments can act as a catalyst to change. I've noticed that during periods of my life, when I was not open to change.... I myself didn't change. As we age our minds change and therefore our perception of the world changes, however, I don't think that this kind of change in ourselves is enough. I began to ponder what in my life has served as a catalyst to change. I concluded that every time that I travel, a modified me emerges. Interestingly enough, I don't realize that the change has occurred within myself until I have come home and rested my head on my own quiet pillow. You see, when we live our lives driving to the same job every day, working with the same people, eating the same food, and doing the same things in our spare time we rob ourselves of new information. We become stagnant, letting fear of the unknown drive our lives instead of the innate curiosity that lies within all of us. It becomes a rarity to encounter situations or ideas that make us question our stance in life and what we believe.

     Every new realm that I visit, spits out a new revision of me much like a book that is being written. France brought out my inner feminine and taught me to embrace it. Italy unveiled the art of slowing down and savoring every simple moment. Ecuador reminded me that one is rich as long as they have the love of family. Peru, that this earth is not to be taken for granted. Turkey invited me to unveil how lucky I am to have the freedom to fly, dream, and pursue as well as any man.

Croatia opened my eyes to the beauty of self sufficiency and sustainability. Alaska made me aware of the earth that we have to protect. India taught me that I had so much to learn in regards to population density and what really defines a "humanitarian."

     My point is this, when we close ourselves off to new experiences we are robbing ourselves of the catalyst that we need to become the people that we were intended to be. Fear should never be given the ability to define your fate. Open yourself up to new possibilities. Jump in the car and drive with no destination in mind. Meet people and ask them to tell you about their story. Hike a mountain and don't make any noise the entire time. Fly to different places in the world and observe instead of trying to morph the environment to your specifications. Read books that make you uncomfortable and force you to evaluate your ideals. Most importantly open your mind to the idea that change is not only important, it is damn right essential in not becoming stagnant. When you have opened your mind to this idea, don't forget to keep those eyes wide open because you have a lot to learn! 

Possessions Owning Possessor

 

Do you own your things or do your things own you? I find myself pondering this as my husband reports that his bicycle was stolen from under our front porch today in broad daylight. There is a common mentality (and one that I previously had had) that surrounds acquiring material possessions and I have begun to realize that the more you own the more it owns you. You see the problem is this; when a person works hard to earn a substantial amount of money that is then spent on a costly item the item is deemed "valuable." With the title of a valuable possession you are now left to be it's care taker. It is your responsibility to tend to it and make sure that it remains in your possession (not stolen). With all of these added tasks of caring for your new purchase comes the undeniable stress that comes along with it. Today I was reminded, when a bicycle is purchased at a thrift store for $10 it carries worth... but not the type of worth that has you padlocking it up. Although you enjoy this bike, why would you stress about it being stolen or breaking? And let's be honest, no physical possession is really ours anyway. One day we will no longer have the breath to worry about the status of all our possessions. One thing that we will not have at the end of our lives are those wasted moments that we concerned ourselves with such petty and insignificant worries. When you have nothing (or little to nothing), you have nothing (or little to nothing)to loose. When you begin to put value in Sunday morning tickling matches with those little ones, that embrace that warms your entire being, or those moments that the stars are so bright that they take on a living presence... you are left to realize that there really is no value in any inanimate object. Quite liberating...

Prada =EQUALS= Nada

     In our culture from a very young age we are taught that the more we obtain and the richer we are the better off we are in this life. Nearly eight months ago, I began to venture down a path that I would have never envisioned myself going down. The road of anti-consumerism. The more I learn of the lack of sustainability in our culture's chosen path the more I despise this constant need for bigger and better things. The consumer has fed into, therefore supported, an endless cycle of consumption. In the attempt to understand where this desire comes from I think back to my younger days.... the moment of thrill that I would have walking out of the store with a new item swinging from hand in a shiny plastic bag. Often times, that new item would be a different version of something I already had cluttering my home. My point is, that it is that fleeting moment of joy that has somehow enamored us.

We know deep down inside that the lack of or abundance of material possessions and money does not create happiness, respect, love, security, or anything that all those commercials insinuate that we will gain if we purchase their product. We are smarter than that!

 

I quickly began to correlate that the less I picked up that remote, crossed the threshold into those automatic doors, and perused the magazines at the grocery store queue...... the less I felt I actually needed. The other day I found myself in a store which I had formerly loved, and I felt ill as I looked around and saw all of these young girls pouring their time, energy, and resources into something so completely pointless. Then I stopped and thought to myself,

"AH! April, you have truly jumped off the hippy deep end!"

But have I?

 

Countless studies have shown that money and material possessions does not make one happy or fulfilled. Studies have actually gone to prove just the opposite, that in fact people that see an increase in their money and possessions report a decrease in their general feelings of happiness and fulfillment. Opening my mailbox this morning I was captured by these bolded red words on an envelope with a return address from Vogue magazine that read:

April, We miss you!

 

 

Dear Vogue-

I bet you do! This is my response to you, I have no intention of renewing my magazine subscription... even if you give me six free issues. I will no longer waste my precious time on this earth filling my brain with the idea that I am less of a person because I don't have a runway worthy handbag or the iPhone87.

Material possessions do not make me.

Yes, I may be blonde... however I am far from dumb. I see how young girls struggle with self image on a daily basis as they look back at themselves in the mirror.... and the message that you send them is one that if they submit then they too will be pretty and acceptable. I call bullshit!

Sincerely,

April Netschke

 

P.S. And by the way, keep your lies away from my young influential daughter! My daughter will know that she is amazing because she has vision, drive, humor, empathy, class, humility, strength, perseverance... not because of what is on her back, what she drives, or what is in her wallet.





 

Present in the Moment

At the base of Exit Glacier, where the gray run off waters run over the smooth black pebbles, I sit beside the stream watching the sun dip behind the snowcapped peaks. Naturally I equate this moment as the ideal moment to find my inner peace so I meditate. Like so many of my meditation practices, in my attempt to be fully present in the moment during meditation I find my mind wandering to insignificant moments in the days prior and plans for the days to come. I glance to the flowing water beside me and realize that in this present moment in time the water that is called stream, was once called glacier, and eventually will be given the title of ocean. However, in that instant, in that present moment, what it was and what it will be are insignificant to what it is now. The water is ever flowing, ever changing, and the beauty was in the significance of noticing the present, acknowledging it, and being mindfully immersed.

180° South or North in Her Case

     There is this clip during my sister's and my favorite documentary, 180 Degrees South, where it is said, "Well what happens when you get to the edge of the cliff. Do you take one step forward or do 180° turn and take one step forward? Which way you goin? Which is progress?' The solution to many of the world's problems maybe to turn around and to take a forward step. You can't just keep trying to make a flawed system work." - Douglas Tompkins

     I am lounged with my socked toes perched on the dashboard of our rental car that is precariously parked atop a cliff watching the waves and glancing every few moments at our bright yellow tent to see if my sister has awoken. This morning, after a restful nights sleep on the sandy shore of the beach, I felt inspired to write.I can't help but draw connections between my sister's journey and the 180 Degrees South documentary. So, I have come here to witness my sister's transition and take part on an adventure as she journeys from Seward, Alaska to a remote island off the coast of Kodiak called Raspberry Island. It is there, on that remote island, that she will be working as a hiking and sea kayaking guide. I know.... right?!

     Taking a few steps back, 4 months back, I can't help but examine her decision and what led her to this place in this very moment in time. She was working a job that she had pursued with all that she had. Recently she had even been promoted from a police officer to a detective, which was the precise reason why she had gotten into law enforcement. She was great at her job and helped so many of the people that she served until one day she decided that she was simply no longer happy. She was tired of combatting and witnessing so much evil, it was as she simply stated "time to see some beauty."

    She dug her heals into the hard ground, shifted that body weight, and swung 180°. She applied and was hired for a seasonal minimum wage position in Alaska (where I am convinced that every nature photograph and film is shot given it's unfathomable diverse beauty). She donated every material procession that had her name on it, sold her car, put in her notice at work, and packed what she could into a backpack.

     This is where I need to insert my opinion. It is this: there may be no other act that is as inspiring as reaching "success" in our modern culture, deciding it's not your definition of success, and changing your life. Life is too short to live in such a way that you are aware that there is something greater and yet you don't fully pursue it. She has been a living example to me to fully be true to myself, even in the face of fear and excuses.

    So this morning I watch the waves lap on to the shore, breaking into a white splash over the jagged rocks yet smoothing the sandy shore before retreating. I take notice that from inside the car where I sit a bumble bee struggles to find an exit as he paces back and fourth on the transparent window. After pacing back and fourth for over twenty minutes, wings flapping angrily. He ascends off the window, turns 180°, and fly's out the open car window beside me. 

Lunch on a Hood

      Just another boring night shift at work. Doing rounds I glimpse out the window and notice that the sun is beginning to rise and is painting the sky a  whole rainbow of hues. So tonight I thought instead of taking my lunch at the desk, I'd rather spend it propped against the hood of my car watching the sky morph in front of me. So outside I went.

      I couldn't help but think that routine often snuffs out the ability to notice beauty.... or perhaps we don't recognize beauty in the things we see so often... because we simply see it too often.

      My questions venture further... Is it the rarity that makes it so beautiful. I then ask myself are adventurers the ones with the most beautiful lives because of the notion that they themselves are unaware of what shore lies beyond the jagged outcropping that their sailboat navigates around? Is it the lack of foresight that makes life so beautiful. Propped up against the hood of my car my eyes glanced heavenward to daydream about the destination of planes as they cross the sky, but instead, something downward caught my eye. Something that was moving. I looked down, and in my stillness, a baby cottontail rabbit was crossing the parking lot. I couldn't help but notice what a beautiful creature this little rabbit is. The sunlight peaking over the horizon and through the trees was illuminating the frailty of his little fuzzy ears. Noticing that his stubby tail truly does resemble a piece of cotton.  I couldn't help but feel that I need to live a life that is less routine and with wandering eyes. Just because I am a driven person with ambition, does not mean that I shouldn't allow the perfect northern wind to guide me south. It's in the spontaneity of that wind that one may find beauty. A rich and fulfilled life is an accumulation of those small noticed beauties.

Star Gazing

Hair sprawled like a fan

Fingers grip the dew kissed grass

The sky like a theater curtain falls

Spins slowly

Stars beam

Leaving streaking remanence of where they were

 

 

Deep with in her soul

a question

Though this earthy grass is all she's known

It's strong

Stable

It has given resistance her whole life for

Freedom

to run

dance

sail

explore

 

 

Yet

The stars gleam bright within her soul

she longs to caress the energy they hold

To feel her hair lift off that dewy grass

and

whip around

behind her

to feel it catch on her lips

as she soars

to new heights

 

 

To feel

the power and light

that those stars must contain

has captured her thoughts as she lay

gazing in that field

amongst that dew laden grass

 

 

 

 

Beauty in Everything

 

 

                Today I went shopping and purchased nearly the whole produce section at my favorite grocery store, Lucky’s Market. My favorite part of buying different types of produce is slowly unpacking it from the reusable bags and putting it on display on my kitchen counter. I enjoy peeling each individual sticker off every apple, banana, mango, avocado, and onion and organizing them on the platter as if I were assembling a bouquet of flowers. Once I am through, I step back to admire the colors, textures, and contrast of the cornucopia. Today I had a fleeting thought that I may enjoy the aesthetic value of a bountiful produce run more than an actual bouquet of flowers. Not only is it just as visually appealing, but you can also enjoy the delights of the bouquet through your taste buds.  My point: you can find beauty in anything if you choose to. As a person who prides herself in optimism, I have discovered that noticing the beauty in every day simple moments is the key to happiness. It’s a shift in thinking. When you approach a situation, whatever it may be, ask yourself, “what is beautiful about this?”  The more you learn to identify everyday beautiful moments, the more it becomes like second nature. Beauty was not exclusively intended for date nights, vacations, and birthdays. Beauty is everywhere every day. It’s in the way the sunlight bounces off your baby boy’s blonde hair or the way the sparrows dart to and from the branches of the tree outside your window. Beauty is found when the evening sunlight turns the brown grass golden or the glimpse of the woman your daughter will be is revealed in her playful smirk. It’s in the sweet smell of a fresh baked banana muffin or the way his eyelids soften when he is fast asleep. It is constantly there, we just have to open our eyes to really see.

More beautiful than a bouquet of flowers!