“Just make it beautiful.”
This direction, given to one of our number recently as part of their off-Homestead employment, has given rise to a fair amount of round-the-dinner-table discussion of late. After all, what constitutes beauty? How is it determined? Is there some kind of rulebook or exemplar? Is, we questioned each other at ever ascending pitch, beauty a measurable,appraisable commodity?
In the end, we found the answer right in front of us.
It’s everywhere (even in The Milk Maid’s crocs!); you just need to look.
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You are quite correct of course.
what can I say…despite the crocs: you are right! xo Johanna
You have to look REALLY hard to see the beauty in crocs, I admit. II’s more tied up in them being easy to use rather than easy on the eye 🙂
I am a dissenter here, There is no beauty in crocs….but the drain cover is very pretty.
🙂
I’m fascinated by the words even being there on the pavement. Who? Why? If I had come across this when out walking I would have stopped, looked around and then wondered…is this very deep and profound and I’m missing the point because I’m shallow and frivolous? Or is it just whimsical and I’m too serious? Ironic and I’m too literal? All that perplexity would make me miss whatever beauty might be present. And I can’t wear crocs, my feet act up almost instantly, not to mention I can’t keep my feet in them and tend to step out of them accidentally. Yup, I’m that klutzy.
Since the quake, our humble suburb has been subjected to a great many pieces of uplifting street art such as this (I think it’s meant to make up for the fact that absolutely no public money has been directed our way). I like it. I liked it even more when I got home (having done the whole point the cellphone in the general direction, take photo and hope because I’ve come out without my glasses) to find I had managed to capture my extremely ugly footwear.
Which brings me to the whole croc debate. I was talked into buying them (mainly because The Goat Herd got sick of me whining that my feet were too hot in my gumboots) and initially had trouble keeping my feet in them. The secret, much to the younger Homesteaders dismay, is breaking them in wearing socks. Yes, socks and sandals; No, I just don’t care.
Don’t you love being middle aged sometimes 🙂
Yes, you’ve pinpointed one of the few good things about middle age – I take shameless advantage of it sometimes.