It's hard to beat Vermont for beauty. With the exception of the dreariness of mud season perhaps, gazing out over the Green Mountains, or driving down the highway, or sitting in our living room can edge to breathtaking pretty much year round. When my brother came for a visit this winter and we drove one evening to a movie in Montpelier he gazed out at the snowy fields, red barns and white farm houses, little lights flickering in the windows and asked "Could this place look more like a post card?"
Even after a year of living here I'm still struck regularly by the vast expanses of green or the meandering streams that I pass daily, but it's the moments of unexpected beauty that I love most. A waterfall found right around the bend in the river we'd been playing in, hidden from sight unless you waded out into the middle, the sound of the river and the kids drowning out the crashing water. Or turning down our road to find it shrouded in mist, silent. Green and white and hauntingly peaceful. A rainbow disappearing between to hills after a storm as I drive to the grocery store. Beauty that makes you pause the routine of daily life and just enjoy.
This morning I stopped at our village shop (remember, we only have one) to grab a bottle of water for Briton's camp lunch, every other water bottle in the house being found lidless despite a long early morning search. When I pulled up and hopped out of the car in the rain, I heard music. Beautiful, slow, welcome the morning music. And there, sitting on the porch of the inn across the street was a man playing the cello. Eyes closed, heart open, playing in the rain.
I hope you find a moment of unexpected beauty today.