A New Kind of Beauty

We used to live on the beach, you know.  A real beach with soft sand and crystal clear water.  With dolphins and sting rays and manatees visible from our back porch.  With gentle, rolling waves and soft breezes.  With rainfalls so hard they made you laugh and winds so strong they made you fear.  My big camera lived on my shoulder that year and never felt like a burden because wherever I went there was something incredible and beautiful to capture.

This is not that place. 

I knew it wouldn't be, of course.  

The colors here feel a bit muted and noticeably lacking in green.

But I'm starting to see it.  I kind of feel like a newborn puppy - born to this desert home with my eyes tightly shut to the beauty around me.  Did you know that puppies are born with their eyelids closed because their eyes are not developed yet?  And even when their eyelids do start to open, their eyes are still developing and will not see well for several weeks to come.

I get that.

I've accepted that the desert will never be the ocean, a lizard will never be a dolphin, a desert shrub will never be a sand dune, and orange will never be green.

But that's okay.  There is beauty here, too.  The sunsets alone can carry me for days.

We have rose gardens in our yard exploding with hundreds of silky bright roses in stunning colors, we have a pomegranate tree speckled with fluorescent red flowers that shine through its gentle green leaves, we have lavender and basil and oregano and mint adding sweet fragrance to the air.  This is not their natural habitat, but their beauty can thrive here and add itself to the unique beauty of the desert.

I think I get that.

Maybe I can, too.